A Sweet Wind Of Hope
by strella.smith
Summary: What would it have been like for Max had he agreed to testify in the Nazi trials in Dachau? An exploration of the consequences of the Holocaust as well as the development of Max and Liesel's relationship after the war.
1. Reunion

Liesel came out.

They hugged and cried and fell to the floor.

They lay on the hard linoleum and held onto each other as though they would never let go. They covered each other with kisses and wailed inane words of love and joy.

Alex Steiner could only watch, tears swimming in his blue eyes. He was an alien in this passionate, private reunion. He felt he should go away and let the weeping couple be alone, but he could not. He had seen so much loss, so much brokenness. It was balm to his soul to see something made whole.

Max and Liesel did not remember he was there. They could see nothing but each other. They drank each other in through tear-blinded eyes and clung together with shaking limbs.

"You're alive..." Liesel kept sobbing.

"I'm here, Liesel. I'm here." He unconsciously echoed the words she had cried to him the day she had spied him in the march to Dachau. He sobbed it against her tear-streaked face and shamelessly kissed her again and again. She returned the kisses with the crazed need of a soul who has been frozen with grief for too long, only to be jolted to life by the warm touch of hope.

After what seemed like hours, they quieted, spent with their frenzy of joy. They lay, stroking each others faces, tears stealing down their cheeks. "You're alive," Liesel whispered again. She could not say it enough. She was afraid if she stopped saying it, it would suddenly be untrue.

"I'm here," Max brushed the tears from her face. "Liesel, I'm here." Slowly, he sat up and leaned his back against the wall. He pulled Liesel into his bony arms and held her like a vice. She lay against him, worn out with joy.

"I prayed every day..." her voice was rubbed raw from crying. "I prayed and prayed and prayed that you might be spared. But I almost lost hope, Max. I almost completely gave up."

He hid his face in her hair. "I wanted to find you sooner but I couldn't. I was nearly dead when they liberated, Dachau, Liesel. They kept us there for months, trying to bring us back to health. It was a long time before I was well enough to leave."

"I came looking for you," Liesel whispered. "I walked to Dachau every chance I got, and begged the Americans to let me look for you. They never would."

Max shook his head. "They were afraid to let us out. There was an epidemic of Typhus and they didn't want us to infect the rest of the population. I think they were also afraid that some people would attack civilians if they let us leave. They're letting a few people go now, but there are still hundreds in the camp. I was one of the lucky ones, Liesel."

"Thank God," she whispered. "Oh Max, thank God."

For a moment their emotions overcame them again and they held each other tightly, tears flowing.

When they had recovered, Max continued. "I came straight here, hoping to find you and Hans and Rosa. I had not heard about Molching being bombed. Liesel... when I came into Himmel street and saw that it was a ruin, I – I went mad with grief. I couldn't bear it. I threw myself down on the ground and cried. I lay there until a man came and asked me what was wrong. I begged him to tell me if he knew if there were any survivors from the bombing. At first he said there were none. But then he seemed to remember and said that there was one. Just one. A young girl. The hope that filled my heart... I cannot even describe it. I asked him if he knew your name. He said, 'No, but I can tell you where she lives. The Hermanns over on Munich street took her in.' Liesel... there are no words. I knew it was you. It had to be you. He gave me the Hermann's address and I ran there. I – I told the woman I was an old friend of yours. She said you were here. Liesel, when I saw you come out of that back room, it was like the sun coming up. I've been in hell. But seeing you again... I can bear it now. I can face my life."

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, his relief fervent on his lips. Liesel closed her eyes, trembling with happiness. Max's breath was warm on her face, his hands gentle in her hair. She breathed him in. He smelled like sun and wind and shabby clothes and weak soup. She had never smelled anything sweeter.

They sat on the floor and held each other until a low cough from the back of the room brought them to their senses. Max slowly rose from the ground and drew Liesel to stand beside him. They turned to face the tailor.

"Herr Steiner," Liesel's voice was shaking with emotion. "This is Max Vandenburg."

Alex Steiner looked into the young Jew's gaunt face and compassion tore at him. "I know who you are," he murmured. "Liesel told me all about you. I went with her to Dachau several times."

Surprise lit Max's swampy eyes. He took the German man's proffered hand.

"Max, this is Alex Steiner," said Liesel. "Rudy's father."

The name caught Max up short.

Rudy.

Of all of the names which had blazed through his mind that day, Rudy's had not been among them. He had been too consumed with thoughts of his three friends. The full meaning of that bombed street and its lone survivor struck him. But for the father of her dead friend, and a wealthy couple from whom she had once stolen, Liesel Meminger was truly alone in the world. He looked down at her. Her eyes were riveted to him as though she could not bear to look away. She clung to his arm like a lifeline. He drew her closer and held her head against his chest.

Herr Steiner was speaking again. "I am glad for Liesel's sake that you are alive. She has talked of you almost constantly, since – since – " he gestured toward the ruin of Himmel Street but could not grace it with words. "I think it was the hope of seeing you again that has kept her alive."

Max held Liesel close, but said nothing.

"Herr Steiner, could I please be excused from the shop for the day?" murmured Liesel. Alex brushed his hand across his eyes. "Yes, of course. I'm sure you two need to talk." An understatement. "Thank you." Liesel took Max's hand and started to lead him out of the shop, but Alex's voice slipped after them.

"Herr Vandenburg?"

The formal address caused Max to pull up short. He had not been spoken to so respectfully in years. He turned. Alex came close to him, and looked at him gravely. His eyes were glazed with a mixture of anguish and guilt. "For what they did to you..." he shook his head. "I have no words. No words. Not even 'I'm sorry.' It is not enough."

A shadow fell over Max's eyes. He did not give it a voice. He was seeing walking skeletons, mutilated bodies, limbs frozen black. Human skins hanging in the sun. The memories ripped through him. For a moment he was sick with anger. He had an irrational desire to strike the German before him. He wanted to scream at him, to shake him. He wanted to shake the entire German race. "Why?" he wanted to shriek. "Why would you do these things? Why would you let these things happen?"

He felt Liesel's small, warm hand squeezing his, and he controlled himself. "You are right," he said dully. "There are no words."

A single tear boiled over in Alex Steiner's eye and rolled down his cheek. The sight softened Max's furious heart just a little. "Thank you for taking care of Liesel."

"It has been my pleasure."

Max took Liesel's arm and they left the shop together. Wordlessly, she led him through the town, down to a quiet spot by the river where they could be alone. She chose a place beneath the sheltering bows of a great spruce tree. The October day was clear, warmed with sunlight. A curious little breeze blew in from the river and stroked their hair. The brown water gurgled below them, and a cardinal warbled overhead. Trembling, Max drew Liesel to him. He held her, cradling her as though she were a priceless treasure he had lost and then found. She nestled in his arms, watching him with tired, contented eyes. They did not speak for a long time. They studied each other, absorbing the changes chiseled by two years of war.

Liesel saw a man, ravaged by unspeakable torture. She saw it in his worn face, in his haunted, still hungry eyes. She saw it in the whip scar, laced around his neck, and in other scars from God knew what. She saw it in the black numbers tattooed on his forearm. She felt it in the thinness of his arms and body. She felt it in the shuddering kisses he dropped on her face from time to time. She wondered with horror, what memories lay hidden in his mind. Max saw a girl, breathtakingly beautiful, but broken by tragedy. The child who had brightened the darkness of his basement had fled, taking her sunshine with her. Grief stared out of her brown eyes, shadowing their loveliness. Loneliness was cold on her skin. She touched him compulsively, stroking his face, his hair, his hands. She seemed starved for his touch.

He was starved for human kindness of any kind. He laid his head against hers and closed his eyes, breathing in the sweetness of her.

"Liesel... I can't believe you're alive."

She turned her lips to his cheek, her tears spilling over again. "I can't believe you're still alive. Max... oh Max."

She was remembering the last time she had touched him. On a clear day on Himmel Street, in the midst of a parade of misery. His kiss in her palm, the burn of the whip on her back... She shook with grief at the memory. "That day they dragged you away from me... Rudy had to hold me down because I wanted to chase after you. I would have too. I would have followed you all the way to Dachau and beaten on the gates and screamed for them to give you back to me if it hadn't have been for Rudy..."

Max crushed her closer. "Rudy saved your life."

"I went to bed for three days after that," Liesel sobbed. "I couldn't even cry. I laid there and bled on the inside. Watching them beat you... Max, I couldn't – oh God, I would have done anything to stop them – "

Max held her while she sobbed convulsively. He thanked God that she didn't know of the other things they had done to him.

"None of us could eat," she finally went on. "Papa couldn't play the accordion. Mama didn't swear for a whole week. We couldn't do anything but cry for you on the inside. Every night after that, Mama went down to the basement and prayed. She prayed for you out loud where she thought nobody could hear her. She loved you so much, Max. We all loved you." The words were tumbling from Liesel. She had not spoken of those things to anybody. They were too close. But with Max, the memories came gushing out in an unstoppable torrent. Her Mama, her Papa, her Max. All torn from her. Only one had come back, could ever come back.

"She did that every night," sobbed Liesel. "Every night she cried and prayed. Until..."

The words ceased their flow. She held onto Max and silently convulsed.

The bomb.

Max cradled her. "Tell me," he whispered. "If you can."

She did. The story unraveled, broken, and at times, barely coherent. She told him how Papa had been drafted into the army, of the accident that saved his life, of his homecoming. She told him of the night she wrote in the basement while the rest of Himmel Street slept; the night the bombs crept down from the sky and smashed her world to pieces. She told him of Mama's and Papa's dead faces and the words she spoke to them. She told him of kissing Rudy's dusty lips. She even told him of Papa playing his accordion as he made his last bow to the world of the living. She had not spoken of that to another living soul. She told him how she wore the dust of Himmel Street for days afterward. How she clung to Papa's accordion. How she wandered about like a mad thing, talking to herself, wading in the river, asking Rudy for a kiss. She told it all to him.

Max wept.

Violently.

She wept with him.

They could do nothing else.

When they had cried themselves dry. They sat in the grass by the river and watched the muddy brown water swirl by. Max held Liesel's head on his shoulder and stroked her hair.

"So you've lived with the Hermanns ever since?" he murmured.

"Yes."

"And worked for Herr Steiner?"

"Yes."

"And you have no one else in the world? No family? Not even distant relatives?"

"No Max."

There was a long silence. Max pressed Liesel to his heart. They were both so alone in the world. Tragedy had reached down from its fiery sky, and lashed them repeatedly. Its cruel hand had struck again and again until it had stripped them of everyone they loved, except each other. They should both be dead (he thought drearily). And yet here they were, the lone survivors. A wave of protectiveness washed over him.

After a while, Liesel said, "Max?"

"Yes?"

"Can you – can you tell me anything about...?" she trailed off, afraid to finish her sentence.

He closed his eyes. He had known she would ask sooner or later.

"Liesel..."

He could not look at her face. She had just entrusted him with her deepest, most intimate wounds. She would want him to be equally vulnerable with her.

She would want to swap nightmares.

This time he couldn't. "I saw some of it." Liesel's voice was barely a whisper. "When Herr Steiner and I went to Dachau. We saw the piles of bodies. The stench. We saw the people. Walking skeletons. I – I went crazy the first time. I screamed and cried outside the gate for over an hour. Alex had to hold me down. The soldiers sent us away. But I kept coming back. I swore I would find you, even it was only your body. Max... oh Max, how could you bear it?" She was crying again.

"Don't ask me," he groaned. "Please don't ask me, Liesel. I can't talk about it"

She put her arms around his neck and laid her head on his shoulder. "I hate them," she sobbed. "I hate them all! I hate them for what they did to you. I hate them for what they did to your people... for what they did to my mother. I will hate them until the day I die!"

He did not argue with her. He kissed her softly and stroked her hair.

They sat by the bank of the river and held each other until the sun was westering in a tangerine sky. The air was growing chilly. They clung together, trying to ignore the gathering darkness.

Finally, Max murmured. "Liesel... I have to take you home sometime."

Liesel hid her face against him. "No," she whispered. "Not yet."

He kissed through her hair. "We can't stay out here all night."

"I can't bear to leave you."

"I know. I – I can't bear it either. But it's getting cold. I won't have you getting sick on my account. The Hermanns will wonder where you are."

"Don't take me back yet, Max. I just want to be near you. Please. It's all I ask."

Her eyes and voice were so plaintive, his heart broke. "Maybe I can stay with you for a little while at the Hermanns." It was a testament to how deeply he cared for her that he was willing to spend any length of time with people he knew had been Nazi supporters. "If they'll let me," he added as an afterthought.

"If they don't, I will leave their house forever and never speak to them again."

Max smiled at her youthful fervor. Gently, he loosed her from his arms, and helped her to her feet. "I assume they know nothing about me?"

"They know a little. They wanted to know why I was going with Herr Steiner to Dachau."

"What did you tell them?"

"I – I told them I had a friend who might be there. The Mayor was satisfied with that, but Frau Hermann wanted to know more. I told her about you. She was sympathetic. She never agreed with Nazi ideology. She just... tolerated it because her husband did."

"There has been a lot of 'tolerating' in this country," said Max bitterly.

Liesel took his hand. "Far too much."

They spoke little as they walked back through the town toward 8 Grande Strasse.


	2. In The Burgermeister's House

**In the _Burgermeister's_ House**

Ilsa Hermann's face was a mask of surprise and concern when she opened the door to Liesel's knock. The girl stood on the porch, holding tightly to the hand of a shabby, gaunt man.

"Liesel! I was getting worried. It's so late."

"Frau Hermann... this is Max Vandenburg."

For a moment, the Mayor's wife looked blank, then realization flooded her."Oh Liesel...!"

"Might he – might he come in for a bit?"

The woman looked swiftly over her shoulder. "Yes... for a bit. My husband is away. Come in."

Reluctantly, Max allowed himself to be led inside. He stood in the warmth and the splendor and stared at it. Liesel kept her hold on his hand. Ilsa Hermann seemed both nervous and curious.

"May I – may I get you a cup of tea, Herr Vandenburg?"

"Don't bother, please."

"It's no bother," The bereaved mother's eyes swept the young man's wasted frame. "Perhaps some sandwiches or cookies too. Why don't you show him to the parlor, Liesel?" Frau Hermann disappeared.

Max surveyed the beautiful house. "So this is where you've been living?" There was an odd note in his voice.

"Since Mama and Papa died."

"This is the house with the amazing library, isn't it?"

"Yes, Max."

The shadow, which had darkened his eyes in Alex Steiner's shop earlier, fell over him again. This time Liesel caught a glimpse of it. She was not sure what it was, but it saddened her. As quickly as it had descended though, Max brushed it away. He smiled at Liesel. "I'm glad you've been so well cared for."

"The Hermanns have been very kind to me," Liesel said dutifully. She led him to the parlor.

Ilsa Hermann returned with a tray of tea, sandwiches and cookies. She invited Max to sit down. He did so, looking more uncomfortable by the minute. His worn clothes were a stark contrast to the finery around him. He seemed to struggle with remembering the finer details of manners. It was pitiful to see him trying not to wolf the dainty sugar cookies and finger sandwiches. He endeavored to slowly sip his tea, to make polite small talk while the ghosts of starvation and torture stared out of his eyes. Liesel sensed his discomfort and positioned herself protectively at his side. She held his hand and stroked it when he was not drinking tea, and when he was, she kept her own hand on his back or his knee, patting him, silently reassuring him.

Ilsa Hermann could not help but notice the girl's attentiveness. Her eyes never left his face. Every tic of her body language bespoke devotion and protectiveness. Ilsa's conclusion: Max Vandenburg might not look like much, but clearly he was a person of incredible worth to her young charge.

As the visit progressed, Max's awkwardness became more pronounced. His gaunt hand shook every time it lifted the tea cup. Frau Hermann saw this and set aside her own reticence in an effort to make him feel comfortable. She asked him kind questions: did he have any friends or family nearby? Did he have any work? Where was he staying?

The subject of Dachau was not broached. Max answered some of her questions without hesitation. He had no friends except Liesel. He did not know where his family was or if they were even alive. He hoped to find work soon.

He skirted around the question of where he was staying until Liesel asked him point blank if he had a place to sleep that night. To her horror, he admitted that he didn't.

Frau Hermann shook her fluffy head. "And what do you plan to do young man? Sleep on the street?"

"I've slept worse," murmured Max.

"Oh Max!" Liesel was near tears.

Frau Hermann stood up. "No one who has eaten with me under my roof will spend the night out of doors," she said firmly. "I'll get the sheets for the guest bedroom."

"Please, don't," murmured the Jew.

"If you sleep on the street tonight, I will sleep there with you!" cried Liesel. "You'll have to chain me up to stop me!"

Max knew that she meant it and he did not argue. Besides he was fast caving to the thought of a warm bed and decent shelter. Unheard of luxuries.

"Why didn't you tell me you had no place to stay?" Liesel demanded.

"I didn't want to impose."

She went to him and put her arms around him. "You could die out there," she whispered. "Where would I be then? Oh Max, where would I be?"

He kissed her forehead. "I'll sleep here tonight, you don't have to worry."

Ilsa returned. "I will show you the lavatory while Liesel gets your bed ready. I daresay you might want a bath."

Max's eyes blazed in spite of himself. A bath. Hot water. Soap. Privacy. More luxuries.

"Thank you, Frau Hermann."

An hour later, Max Vandenburg emerged from the steaming lavatory, his feathery hair wet, his face clean-shaven. He looked almost dazed by the comfort and kindness around him. Ilsa showed him to his room. She had laid a pair of old pajamas on the bed.

"They once belonged to my husband," she said. "But he has gotten too fat for them." Her eyes again scanned his emaciated frame. "I think they will fit you."

"Thank you Frau Hermann."

The wife of the Nazi sympathizer was not so bad.

"Goodnight then, Herr Vandenburg. Liesel, don't stay up too late. You have school in the morning."

"Yes ma'am."

Ilsa departed.

Liesel lingered behind. "Do you have everything you need?"

"Liesel, it's more wonderful than you can ever imagine."

She smiled, but still lingered, unable to tear herself away from his presence. "If you – if you need anything, I'm just down the hall. Don't hesitate to wake me."

She stood on tiptoe to kiss him goodnight, and suddenly found herself enveloped in his arms. "Stay with me," he pleaded. "Just for a while."

She almost collapsed with relief. "I'll stay as long as you want."

He led her to the bed. They lay down on it and leaned back against the fluffy, feather pillows. Ilsa had lit a fire in the little grate. It's cozy, yellow light played around the room and tucked autumnal aromas into the corners. Max closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "I've forgotten what it's like to be warm."

Liesel took his hand in both of hers and caressed it. "I'm going to take care of you," she whispered. "I'm going to make sure you get strong and healthy. And don't you even suggest sleeping on the street again."

Max smiled sadly. He shifted to face her. Gingerly, he reached out and stroked Liesel's cheek with his thumb. "Am I dreaming you?" he murmured. "For two years, I've known nothing but hunger and cold and hatred. Tonight, I suddenly find myself snug and warm with my little Standover Girl, and she's swearing to take care of me. I must be dreaming."

Liesel's eyes stung with tears. She kissed his hand. "You're not dreaming, Max. You're safe now. If there's any way I can keep you from ever being cold or hungry again, I'll do it."

She scooted close to him and laid her head on his chest. His arms came around her and he gathered her in close, kissing her hair. She closed her eyes, savoring the warm, breathing aliveness of him. She could feel all the sharp angles of his body. Peace flooded her. Her tears overflowed as a powerful sensation of homecoming overwhelmed her.

"I love you," she whispered.

She had not said it enough to Papa. She had never said it to Mama. She would live with the regret of having never said it to Rudy until the day she died. She would never be miserly with those words again. "I love you, Max."

"I love you too, Liesel." His words were tremulous with tears.

After that, there could be no leaving. The warmth, the companionship was too heavenly to extract themselves from. They lay in each others arms, whispering tenderly as the firelight slowly died. The embers puffed out drowsy air and blew it into their lungs. Liesel was vaguely aware of the moment when Max pulled the downy coverlid over them and wrapped her again in his arms. She fell asleep with his breath sweet on her eyelids.

Their slumber was deep and peaceful that night. No nightmares visited them. The darkness looked down on the two sleeping hearts and seemed to say, "I have been cruel, I have been merciless, I have brought misery many times; but tonight, just for this once, I will be kind. Other souls will wake in torment, but these two I will bless. Let them enjoy this night of their reunion, unmolested by evil visions."

Liesel awoke to Max's kiss in the early hours of the morning. "I'm sorry to wake you," he whispered. "You were sleeping so peacefully. But I don't want you to be late for school."

Liesel closed her eyes, drowning in bliss. He was here. He was alive. He was safe. Her heart felt whole again after lying in shards for two years. She slipped her arms around him. His body was gentle against hers, the softness of his hair brushing her cheek. She wanted to stay in his arms forever. In the pearl gray light, he looked very young, his feathery hair rumpled.

"I suppose I should be guilt-ridden for keeping you in my bed all night," he murmured. "But I can't seem to find the heart. It was too precious to regret. Thank you Liesel, for staying with me. You're like the balm of Gilead."

She stroked his hair. "You're like home."

Tears filled his eyes.

"I miss home," she whispered. "I miss Papa and Mama and the smell of paint. I miss pea soup and being called a Saumensch. I miss reading with you in the basement and bringing you the crossword. I miss playing soccer with Rudy and dragging Mama's stupid washing all over the town. The Hermanns have been very kind to me, but this isn't home. My home is gone. Except for you. You're the only bit of it that's left. Last night was like sleeping with all the bits and pieces of home that I miss."

"Oh Liesel..." Max wished he could describe to her what her presence meant to him.

It was futile.

He only knew that in her arms, the memories of filth and fear and brutality lessened. Her tenderness seemed to staunch the still-bleeding wounds that lacerated his heart. He longed to rest in her quiet presence until his spirit was healed and Dachau was forever dispelled. He held her for a while longer, kissing her softly, relishing the sweet comfort of her cuddled against him.

Then with a heavy sigh, he made himself release her. He was a displaced Jewish rat. He had no business lying in bed, allowing himself to be happy. It was his lot in life to find a hole to survive in. The brief respite he had enjoyed in Ilsa Hermann's house was over. He kissed Liesel one last time and pushed himself from the warm nest they had made.

"Liesel, I would give anything to stay here with you all day, but we'd best be getting up. I don't want you to be late for school." The loss of his warmth was like a slap of cold water against Liesel's body. She was sorely tempted to draw him back to her, and tell him that just for that day, she would forget about school. But something in his swampy eyes stopped her. She kissed his cheek, and made herself leave. Once inside her own room, she allowed herself to stand and remember for just a few seconds. His arms, his lips, his eyes full of love, his comforting words. The recollections wrapped themselves around her like a sweet fragrance. She would cherish that night in his arms for the rest of her life.

She dressed quickly and went to look for Frau Hermann. She found her in the kitchen preparing a huge breakfast. The Mayor's wife rarely cooked. When she did, it was usually tiny delicacies fit only for tea parties or elegant brunches. Liesel had never dreamed the woman knew how to put together a true meal. She had made eggs and rashers, roasted tomatoes, toast and tea and coffee. She smiled when she saw Liesel's amazed eyes.

"Your friend looks like he could do with a square meal," she said by way of explanation.

"I didn't know you could cook."

Ilsa spooned strawberry jam into a dish. "You forget. Once I had a growing boy to feed."

Liesel nodded, feeling foolish. "I'll go and fetch Max."

Max looked overwhelmed at the sight of the feast. In the light of day, his painful awkwardness returned, and he hunched into his seat, attempting to make himself disappear. Liesel sat next to him and tried to put him at ease. Ilsa moved about, gracefully dishing up food, not asking questions. All was well until the _Bürgermeister_ arrived for breakfast.

He came in all of his tweed glory and pulled up short at the sight of the stranger and the giant meal. It was immediately apparent that his wife had said nothing to him about their overnight guest. He looked from Max, to Liesel, to Ilsa, and back to Max again.

"What is going on?"

"Heinz, this is Max Vandenburg," said Ilsa. "He is a friend of Liesel's. He arrived in town yesterday and had no place to stay, so I allowed him the use of our guest bedroom."

"Oh..." the Mayor took a moment to process his confusion. "Why didn't you tell me he was here last night?"

"You were out so late. I was asleep when you arrived home."

"I see..." the Mayor was staring at Max. "Well, _Guten Morgen_..."

" _Guten Morgen_." Max's awkwardness was excruciating. "Thank you for the – the accommodations."

The Mayor did not reply. He was frowning at the loaded table. "Why on earth did you make so much food, Ilsa? We're still on rations..."

"We rarely have guests."

The Mayor grunted and sat down. It seemed to be the end of the matter. But Liesel noticed his eyes continually straying to Max as he ate. Up and down they slid over him, taking his measure. Liesel could almost see the assessment forming in his mind:

Dark hair.

Ragged clothes.

Thin, almost skeletal.

Murky, haunted eyes.

Strange scars that peeped out from under his clothes.

Hands that shook slightly as he ate, as though he were holding himself back in some way.

Jew.

Freshly sprung from a concentration camp.

The moment was almost visible when the Mayor added everything up and realized who and what was sitting at his breakfast table. He likely recollected Liesel's walks to Dachau. So this is the friend, his eyes seemed to say as he stole glances at Max. _Die Juden_. One of the very creatures the _Führer_ had railed against for years. Here one was, taking refuge under his roof, sleeping in his bed, eating his rations. Beaten, needy, and pitiful.

The Mayor said none of this, of course. He said very little at all. He ate, and occasionally glanced at Max. A haze of disapproval hung vaguely about him, but he did not voice it. Max was not blind. He inwardly writhed beneath the scrutiny like an ant under a magnifying glass. The expertly prepared food turned to sawdust in his mouth. He had to choke it down.

The Mayor finished his breakfast, wiped his mustache, and left without a word. His silence was eloquent. I'll put up with having a Jew in my house for Liesel's sake, it said. But I don't have to approve of it or make it feel welcome.

This was the prevailing attitude toward _Die Juden_ after the war. Not even the horror of the concentration camps could erase the deep seated racism which lay in so many hearts. It lingered like poison in the veins of _Deutschland_ and in the veins of many other countries as well.

Max finished his breakfast as hastily as he could. Liesel, who had missed nothing, was angry and sick at heart. She had hoped for more from the Mayor. Max rose from the table and thanked Ilsa. "Your hospitality, _Frauline_ , is without peer. You gave a stranger a soft bed and a hot meal, which is more than I've had in years. Thank you for your kindness, from the bottom of my heart."

Ilsa's mournful eyes shimmered and she released a bruising smile. "Come any time," was all she said. She made no mention of her husband's behavior and neither did Max. He waited patiently by the door while Liesel collected her things for school. It was evident that he was desperate to leave. Ilsa gave him a parting gift, a large bundle wrapped in clean, white cloths. "To keep up your strength while you look for work," she said. When he opened it later, it contained fresh bread, fruit and cheese.

Liesel held tight to Max's hand as he walked with her through the village to school. "I'm sorry about the _Bürgermeister_ , " she muttered. "His behavior was inexcusable."

Max snorted. "Liesel, I don't know why you expect anything else. This whole nation was taught to hate me and my kind. They have been conditioned to regard us as inferior beings. Just because the war is over doesn't mean that people are suddenly going to respect us or wish to associate with us. In the eyes of some, we are little better than rats or dogs."

"Not everyone thinks that way," said Liesel through gritted teeth. "Papa and Mama didn't. Rudy didn't. Herr Steiner doesn't. Ilsa doesn't. I don't care what the nation was "taught". People make up their own minds. They can choose to believe lies, or they can think for themselves. The Mayor is choosing to believe the lie, and for that, I despise him."

"Don't," said Max quietly. "Don't let hate creep into your heart, Liesel. If you do, you are in danger of becoming like them. Have pity on the Mayor. He will never have a soul like your father's. He will only know small-minded prejudice. For that, he is most pitiable."

Liesel fought back a tide of furious tears. She stopped in the middle of the road and hugged Max hard. "I cannot endure seeing you hurt! I cannot endure it! It kills me to see you being treated so shamefully. You are beautiful and precious, and I want to scream at the people who can't see it!"

Max smiled in spite of himself, secretly cherishing her words. "I've endured a lot worse than being snubbed at breakfast," he said lightly. "So let it go. Come on, you'll be late for school."

"What will you do today?"

"I believe I will go and speak to Herr Steiner. He is a decent man, ja? He might be able to give me some guidance about where to look for work." They were nearing the school house. Before they were caught in the tide of students streaming toward its entrance, Max stopped. "Here's where I leave you. It might not be best for you to be seen in the company of a Jew."

"Max... the war is over. No one is going to take me away for being friends with you."

"No, but I think you would be surprised at what other forms of persecution people can dream up," said Max, darkly.

"I don't care about that. I'm _proud_ to be your friend! I want to shout it from the rooftops!"

"Please don't."

Liesel couldn't help but chuckle at the wry tone of his voice. It was the first bit of humor they had shared since Max's return. It was a welcome relief.

Max stooped and kissed her. "Have a good day. I'll come and meet you when school lets out, if I can."

She put her arms around him. "It'll be alright," he whispered. "I'm just going to go see Herr Steiner for a few hours. Maybe walk around town a little, get my bearings."

She nodded, swallowing hard. "Be careful, Max."

She made herself let go of him, turn around, and walk to the school building. She looked back a dozen times in the hundred feet from him to the door. He smiled and waved reassuringly every time.

Inside, Liesel made her way to her first class, found her seat and arranged her books. Then she sat and stared. She had a strange sense of seeing things for the first time. She realized that for the past two years, she had barely been aware of her surroundings. She had seen the world through a gray haze of Himmel Street dust. Max's reappearance had an awakening effect on her, as though his presence cleared a film from her eyes.

She saw that she went to school in a gray-brick building, painted white on the inside. Long, echoing corridors led the way to the classrooms. Her old school had been destroyed by the same bomb that had demolished Himmel Street. She saw that the students (including herself) wore brown uniforms. She saw that all of them were teenagers. She realized as she entered her first class, that she barely knew anyone in it. The teacher's name was Frau Gruber, but beyond that, she had no concept of the woman's character, nor of the characters of any of her classmates. To her right, there was a girl named Klara, to her left, a girl named Brunhild. A boy named Fritz sat in front of her, a boy named Josef, behind. She remembered their faces, their names, but all else about them was a mystery.

She realized that she had no friends.

It was a genuinely shocking experience. She, Liesel, who had always been surrounded by a healthy group of comrades, with Rudy never far from her side, was now utterly friendless. She could not account for how this happened. She had a vague memory of her first day there, only a few months after the destruction of Himmel Street. She had stopped dragging the bomb dust around on her clothes. She had ceased talking to Papa's accordion. She left off wading into the river and asking Rudy for kisses. Outwardly, she appeared as sane and normal as anyone.

But she remembered looking at those other students, those clean creatures with their neat hair, their untroubled eyes, their easy laughter, and she knew she was as different from them as a coffin was from a womb. The Himmel Street bomb had left her body intact, but had blasted her soul into a void. She knew that once she had been a person who found life good; who laughed at jokes, and enjoyed food, and harbored a secret love for a lemon-haired boy. That girl had known sorrow and fear, but they were tempered with the everyday joys that make life worth living.

This new girl, this soul-stricken wraith, knew no such buffers. Comforts existed around her, but she was numb to them. She had appraised her new classmates, the happy German teenagers, and they bewildered her. They were like shiny, alien beings who existed on a different plane. Death had not yet laid his icy hand upon their lives, whereas he had scooped up every last molecule of hers.

Terrified, she had closed herself off from them, and retreated into the one refuge she had left: books. Books did not require anything of her. They did not look askance at her when she failed to laugh at a joke. They did not snicker at her for staring stupidly into space. They did not whisper behind their hands when she emerged from the bathroom with bloodshot eyes and tear-stained cheeks. They only offered peace and escape.

As the war progressed, things gradually changed. Tanks drove into Molching, announcing their presence with deafening bursts of death. Their smaller cousins, the machine guns, soon joined them. Fires burned. Homes were destroyed. Terror reigned in every heart as defeat marched into their lives. By the end, there were no more happy, German faces. Liesel ceased to be the lone mourner in the sea of students, but she remained isolated in her grief. The rest of the world was exploding around her, but she was oddly indifferent to it. Her world was already gone. Hans, Rosa, Rudy, Tommy, the Steiner family... to the rest of Molching, they were just poor folk who had the misfortune of dying in a stray detonation. To her, they were everything. The fall of the Third Reich was a foot note. She locked the memories of her dead loved ones in her heart and hunched her soul over them. She only spoke of them to Alex Steiner, and occasionally to Ilsa. Everyone else was an outsider.

But now Max Vandenburg had blown back into her life. He was not a stranger. He had known those beloved people. Her grief was not alien to him. She knew that if she bared her soul to him, he would not flinch from her. He would gently cup his hands around her burden and bear it with her.

Liesel watched as Frau Gruber took her position at the front of the class. The teacher did not know it, but a transformation was happening right before her eyes. A dead heart was sparking with new life. A blank existence was teeming with hope.

That day, Liesel did her work. She listened to the teacher's lectures. She did not lapse into dumb grief, nor hide in the lavatory to cry. She noticed other people. The wraith was evaporating, the human girl again taking form.

When school let out, Max was waiting for her a little distance down the road. He took her hand and led her away from the crowds of chattering students. A few of them noticed the strange girl walking away with a shabby, dark-haired man.

"Did you talk to Herr Steiner?" Liesel inquired.

"Yes. He's going to look out for a job for me. He didn't seem too hopeful though. German citizens are having a hard enough time finding work right now. Displaced Jews are... well, displaced Jews. People aren't interested in hiring rats. Herr Steiner said my best hope was the guilt that the German people feel about the camps. Apparently even rats deserve humane treatment. It might be an incentive for some to give a Jew a job."

Liesel was outraged.

"They should be begging the Jews for forgiveness. They should give them back every job they took away from them!"

"In a perfect world," said Max.

They were nearing 8 Grande Strasse. "At least Ilsa always has a good tea ready," said Liesel.

Max looked uncomfortable. "Liesel, I need to tell you something."

"What?"

He took a deep breath, knowing he was going to hurt her. "I'm not going to stay with you at the Hermanns."

She turned pale. "Why not?"

"Your friend Ilsa is a kind woman, but her husband is not the sort of person to whom I wish to be indebted. I can't, I won't take charity from him."

"Oh, Max..." Liesel was devastated. "Where will you stay?"

"Alex Steiner offered to rent a room to me above his shop. He will let me stay there free of charge until I can find work. I don't mind so much accepting charity from him. It's either that, or go back to Dachau – and I'd rather die," he added bleakly.

Liesel lost her battle against her tears.

Max pulled her against his worn coat. "I'm not far away. You'll see me every day."

She nodded, unable to look at him. She couldn't have explained why his refusal to stay with her at the Hermann's upset her so, not even to herself.

"It'll be all right," said Max. "You can visit me whenever you like."

Again, she nodded, but could not speak.

"It'll be alright," he repeated.

She tried to make sense of her emotions. "I'm – I'm scared to let you go," she confessed. "I'm afraid if I let you out of my sight, something will happen to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me."

Liesel broke down. "Something horrible has happened to every single other person I've ever loved. It – It's like I'm cursed. If I love you, you have to die. I – I'm terrified that if you leave, I'll never see you again."

He held her so hard it was painful. "You'll see me again. I promise."

"How do you know?"

"Because I think Death is going to leave me alone for a while. I've fought him off too many times. I believe I've been kept alive through all of this for a reason. I think that reason is you. I think God knew that we were going to need each other when all this insanity was over."

Liesel could not stop her tears. Max tenderly wiped them away. "I'm not going to die, Liesel. I'm not going to leave you alone. I swear it to you. You are all I have left. From this moment forward, no matter what happens, I will keep you close. I will keep you safe. We're in this together, _ja_? And if Death comes anywhere near me, I'll give him a good right hook."

She had to laugh. "You swear it?"

"I swear it." Max leaned his forehead against hers.

Liesel breathed out her fears. "I won't leave you either," she murmured. "I swear it."

He kissed her forehead, choking back tears. "Thank you."

"Are you still going to stay with Herr Steiner?"

Max laughed shakily. "Yes, dear. I would be miserable if I stayed at the home of a Jew-hater. But I won't be far away. You'll see me every day."

"I know. I'm sorry, I'm being selfish."

"No, you're not. You're just being a girl who's lost everything. It's very understandable."

That night, their beds were cold and lonely. The solace of the previous night seemed like a distant dream. Liesel slept badly. Her nightmares returned. Mama's dead, cardboard face swam in her vision. Rudy's lips were cold and unresponsive. Papa played the accordion down the street, but in the dream it made no music. She woke up drowning in the sheets. The room was as dark as a grave. She wept for the comfort of Max's arms. She wrapped her own arms around herself and fell back into uneasy sleep, pretending that she could smell weak soup and shabby clothes.

Max spent his first night alone since being captured by the Nazis. It was a strange experience. On the one hand, it was heavenly to have his own bed in a quiet room. The absence of sick, traumatized men was equally wonderful. Privacy. Cleanliness. A full stomach. All of these most basic privileges were still precious to him.

But as he lay in bed alone, the darkness pressed into him. The phantoms of famished skeletons rose before his minds eye. The barbarisms which had been perpetrated on them and on himself played over and over again in his mind, inexpressible in their horror. They tormented him. He did not have to sleep to have nightmares now. They were never very far from his mind. He lay and struggled against the dreadful images.

Their companion, guilt, reared up and joined the assault. The tactics were always the same. Why had he survived? Why was he still walking the green earth when so many others had perished? The words he had spoken earlier to Liesel were meaningless in that guilty darkness. How could he have left his family? He should have tried to save them. He should have done more to save others. It didn't matter that in the camp, he had often sacrificed parts of his rations to feed the sick. It didn't matter that he had bargained with a Nazi guard to save a friend of his from experiments. It didn't matter that he had stolen a blanket to wrap around a dying bunk mate, and been beaten for it. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. He should have done more. He could see himself only as a selfish piece of vermin who should be dead.

When at last he fell into a troubled sleep, he found no respite. Dachau mocked him there too. He lay imprisoned by it all night, unable to wake. When he was finally released in the morning, his cheeks were scorched with tears.

He would have given anything to have had a sweet, golden-haired girl there to dry them.


	3. The Stranger In The Night

**Author's Note:** _Rudolf Wolf was a real person. He testified at the Dachau trials and helped to bring one of its most sadistic guards to justice. For more information about him read "Dachau Liberated The Official Report By The U.S. Seventh Army." Edited by Michael W. Perry_

* * *

 **The Stranger in the Night**

Alex Steiner made good on his word the very next day. He began a discreet canvas of Molching to determine which establishments might be willing to employ a Jew.

The results were not encouraging.

He phrased the question as though it were an impersonal pole and not connected to him or to anyone he knew. The responses were mixed. Most people said flat-out that they would not hire a Jew. Others said that they might reluctantly consider it. Very few answered positively yes.

Alex kept most of his findings to himself. When Max asked him how his search was going, he answered vaguely and encouragingly.

Max was not fooled.

He tried not to let himself sink into depression, but as the days wore by and Alex continued to come up empty-handed, his spirits plummeted.

He went out and looked for work himself at the places where Alex said there were prospects, but his luck was no better. Germany's economy was in ruins, and no one wanted to employ a frail, sickly- looking Jew. There were times when his future seemed so desolate, Max found himself wishing he had ended his days in the crematorium.

The one thing that kept him from utter despair, was Liesel.

Every day after school, the girl would rush home to the Hermann's, swallow her tea, and fly to Alex Steiner's shop. If Max was there (he nearly always was) she would spend the remainder of the day with him. She consistently brought him a generous sample of whatever delicacies Ilsa had provided for her tea. The very first time she brought them, he balked, citing his reluctance to be beholden to the Mayor. But when Liesel shrugged and moved toward the garbage bin, he changed his mind. She grinned as she watched him devour the tidbits. From that day forward, she always brought him a portion of her afternoon tea.

Max questioned whether the _Bürgermeister's_ wife would be displeased at him partaking of her food when he refused to visit her house. Liesel shook her head. When she mentioned to Ilsa that she was bringing her leftovers to Max, the woman's eyes positively glowed. She increased the portions of the food. In her typical clandestine fashion, she seemed to take great delight in caring for the motherless young man.

Max was secretly grateful. Alex Steiner's cooking was worse than Rosa's.

The days soon settled into a routine. School in the morning for Liesel, job-hunting for Max. In the afternoon, she brought him tea and told him about her day. They both usually helped Alex around the shop until closing time. When the door was locked, they all headed into upstairs to the little flat Alex now called home.

Evenings were Liesel's favorite time of day. She would sit at the scratched table and do her homework. Max would sit next to her and read the newspaper or do the crossword. He frequently helped her with her assignments. Alex usually sewed.

It was so reminiscent of the old days in the basement on Himmel Street, Liesel couldn't help but feel pangs of bittersweet happiness. She would often lay down her pencil for a few moments and watch Max as he read. His eggshell countenance was older, more haggard than it had been three years ago. His hands had a tremble that had not been present before. But his hair still spilled over his eyes in feathery tufts. He still creased up his brow when he read, and he still smiled at her warmly when he caught her looking at him.

The love she felt for him at such moments was crippling. It stabbed her heart and hurt her with its intensity. Sometimes it was all she could do to keep from folding him into her arms and kissing his tired face. She usually just got him another cup of tea.

Her least favorite time of day was when it was time to go home. She rarely stayed past 8:00. Alex was firm about that. She was still in school, still needed her sleep. The father who had been robbed of all his children could not stop fathering. Liesel often begged and argued with him to stay a little longer, but he ordered her to bed every time.

The only thing she enjoyed about that time of day was the a few minutes she got alone with Max. He always insisted on walking her home. At first, she laughed at him, reassuring him that she was perfectly capable of going alone, had been doing so for years. But he would not budge. She was a young and beautiful girl, and the cities were still in shambles after the war. Displaced people of all sorts were at large, some of them desperate, some of them dangerous. He would as soon let his lamb out among wolves.

Every night, in compliance with Alex's curfew, he put on his worn coat and walked with Liesel through the streets of Molching. They always walked slowly, arm-in-arm or hand-in-hand, sometimes talking, sometimes silent. October was drawing to a close and their breath steamed in the chilly night air. The stars glittered like diamonds in the frosty sheet of ink overhead. Molching was quiet then, the only signs of life coming from the lighted windows in the houses. Liesel and Max might have been the sole two people alive in the town. It was the only time they both felt completely free. There was no one to care whether or not they were German or Jew. They were the the Fist Fighter and the Book Thief, alone together in the magical night.

Had they expressed their feelings, they would have admitted that the temptation was powerful to keep on walking, hand-in-hand, far away into the peaceful darkness, away from everything.

Their arrival at the steps of 8 Grande Strasse always brought an end to their brief euphoria.

Time to face reality, the house seemed to say. Time to be the Jewish scum and the orphaned teenager again. Go your separate ways and get on with the business of survival.

Max would wrap Liesel in his arms and hold her for a long moment. She tried not to cry. Every night she felt foolish, getting emotional when she knew she would see him the next day. But she couldn't seem to control the pain that was triggered by parting from him.

 _What if..._ her doubting heart whispered. _What if something happens? What if you never see him again?_

"It's alright Liesel."

She never voiced her anxiety, but Max always seemed to know. "You'll see me tomorrow. It's alright."

"I know." She forced herself to swallow her fear.

He would kiss her softly, soothing her. "Sleep well. I'll see you after school."

Up the steps she went, to the front door, forcing one foot in front of the other. She always turned to look back. He always smiled and waved. He never allowed her to see how much he himself hated the moment of separation.

In Liesel would go, to the beautiful, warm house that was so kind and so alien at the same time. She never, ever felt at home here. No matter how welcoming Ilsa was, she always felt like the girl from the wrong side of town, the girl who stole books, filled her empty stomach with apples, and was friends with a hidden Jew.

Back Max would go to Alex Steiner's flat, trudging through streets that were magical with Liesel at his side, and hostile without her. It was his loneliest time of day. The girl's presence seemed to provide his mind a degree of protection from the demons of Dachau. But in her absence, they returned with fury. He returned to the tailor's shop each night and wrestled with nightmares, both waking and sleeping, until dawn.

At school, Liesel threw herself into her studies with a dedication that astounded her teachers. For the past two years, she had been apathetic at best, despondent at worst. Overnight, and for no discernible reason, she transformed into a model pupil who completed her assignments and got near to perfect scores. No one could help but notice the change in her. Roses bloomed in her pale cheeks, and her bomb-dust eyes glowed with purpose. She was actually seen to smile from time to time.

Teachers and class mates alike were mystified. None of them could have guessed what the catalyst was in the girl's miraculous transformation.

Liesel smiled to herself. She had a sweet secret.

She was hiding a Jew. Hiding him deep in her heart.

She was done living in the realm of ghosts. She was living for him now.

If Max's presence was a catalyst in Liesel's life, hers was a preserver in his. She did not realize this. She had no idea how many times she saved him from utter despair simply by being alive. There were moments in his life when the horrors of the past and the hopelessness of the present were too much to bear.

 _There's nothing left for you here._ A deadly voice whispered to him. _Your whole family is dead. You're hated, worthless. You can't even find work. Why don't you just end it all? You're better off dead._

Max Vandenburg would have been tempted to listen to the voice, had he not had one thing to mute it. Every time time the black thoughts gripped his mind, he remembered the trusting brown eyes of the Book Thief.

 _You're wrong,_ he told the evil little voice. _There is something left. I can't just end it all. There's someone who needs me._

 _She doesn't_ NEED _you,_ the voice jeered. _What do you actually have to offer her? A home? A family? Security? You have none of those. There are others who can give her those things._

 _I love her,_ he told the voice, with a flash of his old fighting spirit. _I love her in a way that they can't. That's what I have to offer her. She's counting on me. If I kill myself, I might as well kill her too. A double murder._

That usually shut up the voice.

At least until the next time.

He never revealed these internal struggles to Liesel. He knew they would only upset her. It wasn't that he wanted to keep secrets. If there was anyone on earth to whom he longed to bare his soul, it was Liesel. But he simply could not find the words. Time and again, he came to the brink of opening up and letting her see the wounds of Dachau, but each time, he flinched back. He was terrified of exposing himself. He harbored an irrational fear that if she knew what he had seen, what had been done to him, she would be repulsed. That thought he could not endure. He needed to see the love in her eyes, the acceptance. He needed all the little caresses and attentions she paid him every day. He knew that if he ever lost them, he was as good as dead. So he hid his pain out of fear.

All of this might have gone on indefinitely, had not a stranger rung the bell at Alex Steiner's door one night in early November.

Alex himself was gone. He had had news from his sister that her husband had returned from the war, terribly wounded. She needed help.

"I'm going to close up the shop until I get back," Alex told Max and Liesel. "Max, you are welcome to live here as long as you need. Good luck finding a job. I don't know how long Kristina will need me. I'm thankful you two will be around to keep an eye on things."

"Safe travels," said Max.

Liesel hugged him and tried not to cry. Another goodbye. The old panic welled up in her heart. "Please be careful, Herr Steiner."

"Call me Alex, child. You're the closest thing to a daughter I have now."

"Be careful, Alex."

He kissed her forehead and was gone. Max held Liesel for a long time that night. He did not make her go home at eight o'clock. He sat with her by the fire until well-past ten.

"He'll come back," he comforted.

"Is it terrible that I'm glad it's him going and not you?" whispered Liesel.

Max did not know if it was terrible. He squeezed her hard. "Let's get you home. Ilsa will worry."

Max continued his job-hunting in Alex's absence, even expanding his search to Munich, but his luck did not improve. There was simply no work.

The night the stranger rang the bell, Max and Liesel were sitting at the table, engrossed in their various diversions. Liesel was grumbling to herself over a difficult algebra assignment. Max was pouring over the classifieds and occasionally offering her his assistance.

A sudden raucous jangling of the downstairs bell startled them both. They looked at each other. It was a residual reaction from the days of the Gestapo. For the rest of their lives, pounding on doors or loud ringing of bells sent momentary fear streaking through them. They always had to remind themselves that Hitler's henchmen no longer roamed the streets.

Tonight was no different.

"Who could that be?" Liesel whispered. She had Ilsa's permission to stay with Max until bedtime. She could not imagine who else would visit them this time of night.

"Stay here," said Max tensely.

He crept down the stairs, his old trick of moving silently coming to his aid. Liesel was less quiet. Her feet creaked. He tossed an annoyed glance over his shoulder.

They stole through the darkened tailor shop to the front door. They could see the dim outline of a man standing outside the glass door. He pulled on the bell again.

"Is it Alex – ?" breathed Liesel.

"Shh!" said Max.

He approached the door, peering apprehensively. The figure outside shifted and his face was suddenly visible in the streetlight. Max started violently.

"Is that – ? It can't be!"

"Who?" whispered Liesel.

Without answering her question, Max strode to the door. He unlocked it and opened it to the figure outside.

"Dolf?" his voice was incredulous. "What in God's name are you doing here?"

The man peered at him. "Max Vandenburg? I'm looking for you."

Max took his arm and pulled him through the door. "Come in for goodness sake!"

The stranger complied. Max shut and locked the door behind him. He turned to the other man and embraced him. "This is unexpected... are you all right, Dolf?"

"In a manner of speaking." The man's voice slunk through the darkness like a gray ghost. "I've been looking for you all day."

Max took his arm. "Come upstairs with us. This way." He went first, the stranger second, Liesel bringing up the rear.

In the lighted room upstairs, Max drew a chair out. "Sit down, Dolf. Liesel, will you put the kettle on, please?"

She obeyed.

Max sat down at the table opposite the stranger. His body language had changed. He was no longer the shrinking fugitive. He was coiled, cautionary, master of the situation. He motioned Liesel over to him.

"Liesel, this is Rudolf Wolf. He was with me in Dachau." Another concentration camp survivor. "Dolf... this is Liesel. I've told you about her."

Liesel nodded nervously. "Hello."

The stranger was a small, wiry man. His dark hair was close-cropped, his mouth was a lipless slash. His hands looked strangely disfigured and they twitched like dying fish. His frame carried the gaunt signature of recent starvation. He cut his eyes over toward Liesel and raked her with them. A faint smile warmed their gunmetal gray depths. "So you found her," he said to Max.

The worry line between Max's brows softened a little. "Yes, I did."

"I'm glad."

"Dolf, what brings you here?"

"There's a matter I need to speak to you about." When the man spoke, he snapped off the ends of his sentences as though hungry for the words.

"What is it?"

The stranger's eyes strayed toward the kitchen where the kettle was heating. "I'm sorry, do you have any food? I haven't eaten since this morning." There was a note of desperation in his voice.

"Of course! Liesel, would you please heat some of that stew?"

The man's eyes flitted around the room as Liesel went to comply. "So this is where you've been staying?" His mannerisms were very similar to the ones Max had struggled with when he was first freed from Dachau. A feral animal trying to remember that it had once been domesticated.

"Yes," said Max. "For the time being. The man who owns this building is a friend of Liesel's. He's kindly letting me stay here until I can find work."

"And how is that going?"

Max made a mirthless noise.

Dolf nodded knowingly. "Not much has changed, eh? Still, you have it better than most. You're lucky you have friends who are willing to take you in. There are many who have no place to go. No family, no friends. No home."

"I know it."

"Did you know Eisenhower has been taking surveys in the camps? He's been asking the Jews where they would like to go since so many of them have no homes. The overwhelming majority said 'Palestine.' When asked if they had a second choice, they said 'crematorium.'"

Max shuddered.

"Can you blame them?"

"No I can't. If I hadn't have had Liesel to come back to, I would have said the same thing."

"Any news of your family?"

"No. As soon as I can earn a little money, I want to go to Stuttgart to see if any of them have come home. If they haven't..." he trailed off, shaking his head. "I hardly even know where to begin. I have no idea if they were taken to camps or killed right off."

"God..." Dolph Wolf's voice was a rasp of grief. "What a massacre this has been."

A cloud of black silence descended over the room. Liesel stood in the kitchen, making her spoon go round and round in the pot of stew. _The world is an ugly stew_... she remembered a quote from years ago. _So ugly I can't stand it._ It was growing uglier all the time. She dished up a bowl of the steaming liquid and placed it before the wiry survivor. He thanked her, and fell on it ravenously.

Max watched him with weary eyes. "Dolf, why you are here?"

Dolf drew a piece of folded newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to Max. "Because of this." He went on eating.

Max took the paper and unfolded it. As his eyes scanned the print, Liesel saw his face harden.

"Did you know?" asked Dolf.

Max tossed the paper to one side. "Yes," he said, shortly.

Dolf nodded. "I thought you probably did."

Liesel picked up the discarded newspaper and scanned the headline. It read: _Nazi Trial to be Held at Dachau._ Below it was a brief article.

Max studied his former fellow prisoner. "Why did you want to see me about this?"

Dolf hesitated. His slate-colored eyes cramped in his face. He laid down his spoon and looked earnestly at Max. "Because they need witnesses."

There was a pregnant silence.

Max's face had gone white. "I don't understand,"

Dolf compressed his thin lips. "Max... they need people to testify. They need evidence against the Nazis. The problem is, many survivors are unfit to stand trial. They are too weak or sick or mentally unsound. They are looking for able-bodied, sane survivors who are willing to stand and testify."

"Are you suggesting – ?"

"I told them about you," Dolf cut him off. "I told them how you'd interfered for Adam Fischer... what happened to you because of it. Also about Konrad and the shootings. You and I saw a lot. We have the kind of incriminating testimonies they're looking for. I've already agreed to testify."

Max was like a statue, his swampy eyes riveted to the man before him. No part of him moved except for one hand which gripped the edge of the table. Liesel could see it shaking with cataclysmic force. The knuckles were as white as bone.

Dolf shook his head. "I'm sorry to spring this on you. But it's – it's important."

Max released the table. He passed his shaking hand over his eyes. "God.. Dolf..."

"I know. The idea is overwhelming at first. But think about it. It's an opportunity to set the record straight. To let the world know what happened at Dachau."

"I don't know if I can. Not right now. I – it's just too much."

"It's for justice." Dolf's voice was hard.

Max stared into space, shaking his head. His eyes were so sad, Liesel couldn't bear it.

"They're going to try Trenkle," said Dolf.

Max froze. In an instant the sadness drained away and was replaced with an expression of such fury and loathing, that Liesel recoiled from him.

Max's eyes met Dolf's. The wiry man nodded. "Trenkle, and Schilling, and Weiss... and about thirty-seven others. They didn't print all the names in the newspaper, but I saw the list. I've been working with the prosecution. They started preparing about a month ago."

Max's hands were in fists now. "If there's any justice, they'll all hang."

"I'm counting on that."

Max put his head in his hands. Liesel sat helpless. The shared history between the two men hung in the room like an oppressive spirit. Liesel wanted to say something encouraging, but words shrank from her mouth. At that moment she was an outsider, barred from their pain. She watched Max, her heart bleeding mutely.

Rudolf Wolf reached across the table and gripped Max's arm. "It's a lot... I know. You don't have to decide right now. Just think about it, _ja_?"

Max raised his head. His face was a mask of torture. "How much time?"

"Two weeks until the trial."

Max shuddered.

"Just think about it," Dolf repeated.

The fire guttered into ashes as three people sat in Alex Steiner's dim flat. Liesel eventually made tea. She could think of nothing else to do. Dolf thanked her for it and drank greedily. She eyed his sharp edges and ladled him another bowl of stew. Max's tea grew cold. He sat at the table, staring into nothing for a long time.

Eventually he roused himself and apologized for his silence. "Dolf, it's late. You can stay here for the night, if you wish. The man who owns this flat is away. You can have his bed."

" _Danke_. I've had a better bed than most at the DP camp. But God, it's a relief to get away from there."

"Make yourself comfortable. I've got to walk Liesel home."

He went to fetch his coat. While he was gone, Liesel, began to clear away the empty tea cups and soup bowl. She noticed Rudolf Wolf watching her.

"You know, I remember you," he said shyly.

" _Bitte?_ Liesel was confused.

"The march through Molching – the day you broke in that line and grabbed Max. I was there."

Liesel caught her breath.

Dolf Wolf shook his head. "I've never forgotten that. Isn't every day you see a German treat us with any kind of humanity. You – taking that whip for a Jew – that was... that was something."

Liesel fought back a sudden tide of tears. The memory came at her like a hurricane. The Nazi tore at her clothes. Max's kiss was precious in her palm. She watched him as he was thrown to the ground. The whip bit into her back.

Trembling, she steadied herself on the back of a chair.

The Dachau survivor spoke again. "You must love him like fury to have risked that."

Her tears spilled over. She dashed them away with the heels of her hands. "I... I would have done anything for him."

Dolf nodded. "Well, he's never forgotten it. He talked about you all the time in Dachau. He called you his 'Standover Girl.' None of us quite knew what that meant, but we knew it meant something to him. I think he really held on to the thought of you in that hell-hole."

Liesel turned her back and went to the kitchen so that he might not see her emotion. She was still wrestling with it when Max came out with his coat.

"Ready?"

She mastered her tears and took his arm.

The sky was burning with star-lit radiance as Max and Liesel made their way through Molching. Neither of them noticed it. Max was distant, preoccupied. The prospect of having to testify at the trial had sent him into a dark reverie. Liesel held on to his arm as they walked, her heart bruised and aching.

When they reached the Hermann's they stopped at the steps as usual. Max wrenched himself from his brooding and trained his eyes on Liesel's face. The torment in their depths was like a knife in her chest. Unexpectedly, he pulled her into his arms and held her against him. She clung around his neck, tears pricking her eyes.

"Liesel... pray for me," he whispered. "I'm afraid. I'm so afraid."

"I will," she murmured. "Tell me how."

He pulled back a little so he could look into her eyes. "I – I hardly even know. That trial... I don't know if I can face going back to Dachau. I don't know if I can face all those memories yet. They're – they're, oh God, they're unbearable! They're still so fresh!"

His pain tormented her. "How can I help? Please Max, tell me how to help."

"You can't help. Just pray. Pray... for – for, I don't know, pray that I'll know what to do."

"I will. I'll pray every day."

"Thank you." He was trembling terribly.

"I love you," she whispered. "I love you like fury."

Her words calmed him. His shivering subsided and he rested his cheek on hers. "I wonder..." he murmured. "If you would love me if you could see me on the inside. What a wreck of a man I am. What I've seen... What I've lived through..."

"Max, I love you even more because of what you've been through!"

He turned his face so he could kiss her temple. "I have a confession," he breathed. "Of all the things I'm most afraid of, losing you is the worst... your friendship... it's everything to me. If I ever lost you, I..." he did not complete his sentence.

She was heartbroken. "Why do you think you would ever lose me?"

He did not answer. Silent tears slid from his cheek to hers.

Liesel took his face in her hands and kissed him gently. "There is nothing," she whispered. "On earth or in heaven that could make me stop loving you. I don't care what you've seen, what you've done. I know you. You might be wrecked, but your heart is deep and sweet and pure. You will never lose me. You're my friend and I love you more than anything else in the whole world."

He sobbed as she kissed him again. "Liesel... you've no idea. If you could see how broken I am..."

"Max..." her whisper was silk against his skin. "Is it from your cheek that I took the seed?"

He caught his breath. She could feel his heart throbbing.

"Is it from that seed that a tree grew?" she went on, fervently. "A mighty, mighty tree that all the axmen of all the world could not chop down? Think about it Max, our tree, the tree that we planted in the basement, is still growing. It is strong and beautiful. It has grown and flourished in spite of all the people who tried to destroy it. It hasn't fallen down yet, and it never will."

"Liesel..."

"You don't have to be afraid," she whispered. "Of losing me, or of the trial. You're a fighter, Max, remember? A champion. You've stood in the ring with Death, with the Fuhrer himself. You beat them both. Maybe you need to fight just one more round. Maybe you need to fight Dachau."

Max shuddered. "I don't know if I have the strength."

"Just think about it. Like Dolf said. Whatever you decide, I'll stand by you."

"You will?"

"Yes. Promise"

He hid his face against her hair. The stars burned overhead and a chilly night breeze whispered around them. Liesel held Max for a long time, brushing occasional kisses against his face. It was not an hour for restraint or shyness. She swore fidelity to him with every touch of her lips, and he accepted it with broken gratitude.

"I love you," she whispered again, before she finally went in.

"I love you too." His mouth was almost against hers. "Pray for me."


	4. Dolf Wolf Remembers

Author's Note: _Warning! This chapter describes some of the tortures and atrocities practiced by the Nazis. I tried not to make it too graphic, but at the same time, I wished for it to be realistic out of respect for those who endured the concentration camps. Most of it is lifted from real life situations of which I have read. Franz Trenkle was a real Dachau guard, and the quote I used for him is what he actually used to say to the prisoners. Klaus Schilling was also a real Nazi "doctor" who performed the infamous malaria experiments. Most of the descriptions of Dachau and its liberation are from "Dachau Liberated. The Official Report By The U.S. Seventh Army." Edited by Michael Perry, and the book "Justice At Dachau," by Joshua Greene. If you are sensitive to this subject matter, be forewarned. It is grim._

* * *

Liesel had a hard time concentrating at school the next day. The events of the night before constantly took her thoughts captive. Dolf Wolf's haggard face swam through the sentences of her history essay. The stark, black letters of the newspaper article interrupted her algebra equation. And Max's anguished eyes gazed at her everywhere.

When the last bell finally rang, she went to the Hermann's house, downed her tea and began the process of wrapping up the extra food for Max. Ilsa Hermann came in as she was finishing.

"How is he?" she inquired.

Liesel paused in her preparations. She never spoke of her Jewish friend to the Mayor, but she kept Ilsa abreast of his doings almost daily. The woman drank in the details of the young man's life. She had sent several more parcels to him via Liesel. One contained a bundle of the Mayor's old clothes. Another was a suspiciously new-looking coat and a pair of gloves. Still another was a handsome, leather book of blank pages (Liesel had told Ilsa about _The Standover Man_ , and _The Wordshaker_ ). And nearly every day, there was a steady stream of edibles: cookies, fruit, fresh bread, cheese.

Max was always vaguely embarrassed and uncomfortable upon receiving the Burgermeister's wife's gifts.

"Why does she send these things?" he asked Liesel. "Why does she care?"

"She is a kind woman," Liesel replied. "And she lost her son. I think it relieves her grief to help you."

Max shook his head. He could not shake his discomfort over having to accept so much charity, but in truth, he desperately needed it. Without the Mayor's old clothes, he would have been in rags, Without the extra food, he would have been perpetually hungry. Alex Steiner did not have much to go around.

He assuaged his guilt by writing Frau Hermann an eloquent note of thanks upon a sheet torn from the leather book.

She had read it with hungry eyes and a quaking smile.

Every few days, she asked Liesel about him. The reports never varied much. He had no luck in finding a job. He was well-cared for by Herr Steiner. He gained a little weight, but not much. He still did not know what had happened to his family.

Ilsa's surprise and interest can only be imagined when on the second of November, 1945, Liesel gave her a report that made up for the monotony of all the other ones with a vengeance.

"What will he do?" she wondered, when Liesel had finished recounting the unexpected arrival of Rudolf Wolf and the news of the trial.

Liesel shook her head. "I don't know. He doesn't want to testify. I – I think the memories are still too terrible for him to talk about."

Ilsa shuddered. "They did terrible, terrible things to them in those camps."

"Terrible is too weak a word," said Liesel, harshly. "I don't think there is a word invented for what they did. I saw it when I went to Dachau. I will never forget it for the rest of my life. Max had to live with it every day! _Every day_ , for two years! I cannot even imagine what that has done to him."

Ilsa shuddered again and said no more.

Liesel walked to Alex Steiner's shop, brooding all the way. The trial and all its possible consequences hung over her like a lowering storm. Her heart ached for Max. She wished she could take him away someplace quiet and sweet where he could find peace.

She found the shop locked. She called Max's name, and rang the bell. To her surprise, Rudolf Wolf came to the door.

"Max isn't here, Liesel. He went out this morning and hasn't been back since."

Liesel was instantly worried. "Do you know where he went?"

Dolf rubbed his swollen fingers over his eyes. "I think he just needed to get away and think. He didn't sleep much last night."

Liesel hesitated. She was torn between her desire to look for Max and the knowledge that he was in need of solitude.

Dolf solved her dilemma for her. "Why don't you come up and wait for him? He's been gone all day. He'll probably be back soon."

Liesel nodded and followed the wiry man to the flat upstairs. She asked him how long he planned to stay in Molching.

"I will go back to Dachau tomorrow," he replied. "The prosecution wants the witnesses to stay close in case they need to ask us questions."

Liesel sat down at the table and offered Dolf some of the contents of Ilsa's parcel. He accepted with gratitude. She watched him pensively as he ate. A question was growing in her mind.

"Dolf," she said. "How long were you in Dachau?"

He glanced at her. "Two years."

"The same as Max?"

He nodded.

"Can you – can you tell me anything about his life there? He won't talk to me about it. He won't talk to anyone. I know it's painful for him, and I don't want to pry. But I want to help him. I – I just wish I could have some understanding of what he went through. He seems to think that if I know too much, it – it might hurt our friendship. I don't understand it."

Dolf put down the cookie he was wolfing. He leaned forward and fixed Liesel with his bullet-gray eyes. "Let me tell you something," he said. "Max Vandenburg is a hero. Don't ever let him tell you any different."

She was silent, waiting for him to tell her more.

"Max's problem, is that he has one of the most misplaced cases of survivor's guilt I've ever seen. He can't seem to forgive himself for having lived when so many others died. It's ludicrous, considering the selflessness he displayed while in Dachau."

"Dolf... please tell me about it."

Dolf shook his head. "You have to understand, the evil in that camp didn't just come from the guards, it was everywhere. Desperation can drive people to do unthinkable things. When you live everyday in the grip of wild hunger and bitter cold, survival becomes an obsession. It is impossible to think of anything else. I saw men attack each other for a piece of bread, fighting like animals. At first it was horrifying, but after a while, you barely noticed it. You had to numb yourself to the violence, the misery to get by. Max was one of the few men who managed to hold on to his humanity. He walked the fine line of consistently showing mercy to others and keeping himself alive. I never met anyone who was more resourceful or humane."

"That sounds like Max."

"It was nothing short of miraculous, Liesel, his ability to continue focusing on others when his own urge to survive was so strong. He showed especial compassion toward the sick and the old. Time and time again, I saw him give up half of his rations to feed an ailing inmate. You have no idea what a sacrifice that is when you are starving. His willpower used to amaze me. There was a black market that went on undercover at the camp, mostly goods sneaked in by the guards, but a lot of the prisoners managed to get in on it too. Max figured out how to work it pretty early on. I don't know exactly what his methods were, but he seemed to have an understanding with some of the _kappos_ , - Jewish prisoners who acted as overseers at the camp. He knew how to obtain extra bread, soap, blankets and smuggle them to those who needed them. He came to be known as a sort of angel of mercy. But that's not the half of it. He risked his life to save a friend of his from the malaria experiments."

"From WHAT?"

Dolf's eyes were hard. "There were a lot of experiments that went on at Dachau. All in the name of 'medicine.' Pah! They were nothing more than self-serving methods of torture! They used to force men to lie in vats of ice water for hours to test their endurance levels. Then they would experiment with different ways of warming them up. They made women lie with the frozen men. They made people drink salt water to dehydrate them to point of death. They forced men stand naked outside in the snow to see how long they would live. We used to hear them at night, screaming in pain as their limbs froze. I won't ever be able to get that sound out of my head."

Liesel was mute with horror.

"There was a doctor there, Doctor Schilling, who used to inject people with the malaria virus. He claimed he was trying to find a 'cure' for it, but nearly everybody he 'treated' died. He'll be tried in a few weeks. There was a young man in our bunker, named Adam Fischer, a sweet kid, only about sixteen. He had been in hiding, and the family who was sheltering him had been caught. He and the father were deported to Dachau. The women, God knows where. Max and Adam became friends. The man who had been hiding Adam, Konrad was his name, was an older gentleman. He had run a drug store. He was German, but he opposed Hitler and his rampant Antisemitism. Adam was his neighbor, and he had taken him in as an of act of defiance against the Fuhrer. He loved him like a son."

He paused in his story to consume a few bites of bread and cheese. Liesel watched him dumbly.

"One day after the noon role call. Adam saw his name on a roster of people who were slated to go to Doctor Schilling's lab. You didn't want your name on a Schilling list. Everyone knew that meant death or disfigurement. It was better to work long hours than to be experimented on. The people who survived suffered horrifically. They became invalids, and often died of complications later. Adam was upset when he saw his name on that list, but Konrad was hysterical. I remember him sitting on his bunk, rocking to and fro, crying, "They're going to kill my boy, they're going to kill Adam." Max was sitting with him, trying to calm him down. 'Don't worry,' he said. 'I have an idea.' He had something from the black market that he had been holding back. I think he was keeping it for himself in case of emergency, but he couldn't stand to let that boy go to the lab. That night, Max bribed one of the workers in the lab with his contraband goods. You have to understand, bribing was always a risk. The success of the bribe depended on the mood of the person you were bribing. If they were in a good mood and willing to turn a blind eye, or if they wanted whatever you had badly enough... hurrah for you. However, if they weren't in a rule-breaking mood... well anything could happen. There were men who were shot because guards didn't care for the bribes they offered. It was always a gamble. Fortunately, for Max's sake, the lab worker was in a rule-breaking mood. The next day, Adam's name was off the list."

"What did he use for the bribe?"

Dolf smiled. "A box of cigarettes. God knows where he got them from, but apparently they were quite good. Good enough to get a Nazi to break the rules. Adam was saved from Schilling's lab, and we thought that particular little episode was over. But... it wasn't."

Dolf reached for the last bit of bread and cheese. Liesel realized too late, that he had eaten the entire content of Ilsa's package. She didn't have the heart to chide him.

"Unbeknownst to Max, the lab worker was friends with one of the worst guards in Dachau, a man (and I use that term very loosely) named Franz Trenkle. He was absolutely evil. Sadistic and ruthless. He had a little saying he used to greet new prisoners with: 'Here there is no place for laughter, the only person who can laugh is the devil, and the devil am I.'" He was the in charge of the punishments meted out to the prisoners, and often he administered them himself. He took great pleasure in whipping and starving people. I was whipped by him on more than one occasion. You see my hands?" He held up his strangely bloated and misshapen fingers. "They look like this from being hung up by my hands from a pole for hours on end. I suffer from blood clots in them now because of Franz Trenkle."

"Crucified Christ..."

"Well you may say so. At least I'm alive. Trenkle was partial to _rozstrzelanie_ – shooting men through the head point blank with an automatic rifle. He did it whenever the mood took him, for the smallest offenses. I'm lucky all I have is swollen hands and feet. As I was saying, Trenkle, the devil-man, was friends with the lab worker Max bribed. Unfortunately, for Max, Trenkle was a heavy smoker. The lab worker apparently told Trenkle about the cigarettes Max had given him, and Trenkle decided he wanted a share. He sniffed Max out and demanded that he hand over the rest of his cigarette stash. Max told him he had given the lab worker his only box. Trenkle was disappointed. He strip searched Max to make sure he wasn't hiding anything, and when he turned up clean, he ransacked our bunker. No cigarettes. By this time Trenkle was on a rampage. Not because he was short of smokes, but simply because things weren't going his way. He was crazy like that. He'd go on tangents over little things. I don't think he was right in the head. When he was finally forced to accept that there were no more of Max's cigarettes, he resolved to get 'revenge'. He decided that Max needed to be punished for the bribe and for having illegal goods. He took him to the whipping block and gave him one of the worst beatings I've ever seen. I was afraid he would die. It was a week before he could even move and two before he could walk."

Liesel thought her heart would explode in her chest. Her hands were clenched into fists and tears of rage coursed down her face. "All because he wanted to save a friend," she whispered.

Dolf nodded. "Max Vandenburg is a brave man, but that beating broke him. He kept his head down after that. He didn't try any more bribes. He still shared his rations with the sick when he could, and occasionally, if he heard about a great need, he would smuggle something from the black market. He stole extra bread for me after I got hung up on the pole. But he was getting weaker and sicker, and he was desperate to survive. I think you had a lot to do with that – " Dolf glanced at Liesel, "– He told me more than once that he was determined to live because he wanted to see you again. I think the kindness you and your family showed to him actually had a strong influence on how he conducted himself in Dachau. Once, after he had given his soup ration to a dying man, I asked him why he did such a thing when he was starving himself. 'I lived with people who risked their lives for me,' he said. 'Even though I was a stranger. The least I can do, is to show others the same mercy they showed me.' You meant a lot to him, Liesel. More than you probably realize."

Liesel's tears were slow and awed.

"I could go on and on all day about the barbarities we witnessed," Dolf continued in his lifeless voice. "There was no end to them. Men were shot and killed every day. Sometimes, someone would be standing right beside you, the next moment you would hear a crack and their brains would spatter all over you. Victims of the experiments wandered around with their horrible disfigurements, scars from the diseases, missing body parts from frostbite. People went insane with misery. They used commit suicide by throwing themselves against the electric fence that surrounded the compound. It got worse toward the end. That camp was designed to hold about eight thousand people. As the war drew to a close, they emptied inmates from other concentration camps into Dachau. I heard at one point that over fifty thousand people were imprisoned there. The overcrowding was indescribable. Everything was filthy, lice-infested. There was not enough food. An epidemic of typhus broke out, and people started dropping like flies. Bodies were piled everywhere. Konrad came down with typhus. Max stole an extra blanket to wrap around him, and got another beating for it. He was so weak, his body couldn't handle it. The wounds got infected and wouldn't heal. They finally let him go to the infirmary and he ended up staying there until the end of the war. It saved his life. He wasn't forced into the death marches or subjected to the beatings and exposure the other Jews received when news of the approaching American army reached us. While he was in the hospital, Konrad died. A few days later, Adam was shot and killed by Franz Trenkle. After all of Max's efforts to save the boy from Schilling's experiments, he ended up being gunned down in cold blood."

"Oh Max..." Liesel whispered.

Dolf shook his head. "It wasn't long after that, the Americans came and liberated Dachau. They opened up the gates and there were thousands of us, screaming for joy, and screaming for help. All around, the dead lay... mountains of starved cadavers. The soldiers were horrified. I watched battle- hardened men cry and vomit. They were so enraged by what they saw, they shot some of the guards on sight. They were utterly overwhelmed by our misery. We were numb to it. All we cared about was the food they had. The Americans started working to get food and medicine into the camp and to improve the conditions. Once they came on the scene, Max rallied a little. He was so weak he couldn't stand, but his fighting spirit returned. He pulled himself together and set his sights on one thing: being reunited with you. It became his driving obsession. Some men had families, or sweethearts who were their lifelines. For Max Vandenburg, it was a young girl named Liesel Meminger. It was seven months before he was strong enough to leave Dachau. He and I used to go to our check-ups together. When the Americans first came, he weighed ninety-five pounds and was covered in infected sores. I weighed eighty-three and suffered from blood clots. We both had chronic dysentery. Our recoveries were long and difficult. A lot of people died during that time. Max was declared fit to leave when he reached his goal weight of one-hundred and twenty pounds, and the wounds from his beating were finally healed. The day he left Dachau, he hugged me and said, 'Good luck, Dolf. I'm going to find Liesel. God willing she's still alive.'" That was the last time I saw him. When I found him here yesterday, I was more glad than I can say that you were alive and that he was with you."

Dolf paused for a moment, thinking. "That's Max's story in a nutshell. It doesn't begin to do justice to what we truly lived through, but it's a start. There are some things words literally cannot describe. That camp, and all its evil, is one of them."

Liesel sat, speechless. Dolf's story had shaken her to the core of her being. She could not comprehend how such atrocities could exist. Emotions churned inside of her. She felt sick and enraged, helpless and determined. Over all, she felt a swell of fierce love for Max Vandenburg. He was indeed a hero. A man of astounding compassion and courage. It was almost overwhelming to think that he was her friend.

Dolf spoke again. "Liesel, I know you want to help Max, and I hope you can, but people like us... the things we've seen... there's no erasing those images from our brains. I don't know if we'll ever get over them. Sometimes I'm afraid we're all broken beyond repair. I think the best thing you can do for Max is to love him. I don't understand the exact nature of your relationship. I know you two are friends. But I wonder..." he was looking at her oddly. "Whatever you are, he needs you. Just... just stand by him."

"I will, Dolf."

Dolf fiddled with one of Alex's spoons. "There's one other thing. I think it would be very good if Max could testify in the trial. I know he's balking at it right now, but I think it might help bring him some peace. I haven't even testified yet, but just working with the prosecution, seeing the efforts at justice, has helped me. If there is anyone who deserves to see justice and to live in peace, it is Max Vandenburg. You might try to talk to him about it. I did a little today, but I think he might be more inclined to listen to you. He told me how you two promised not to leave each other. I think he feels that if he goes to Dachau for the trial, it would be tantamount to breaking his promise. He cannot seem to bear the thought of being separated from you, even for a short while."

Liesel said nothing. The same thought had plagued her all day. She had resolutely pushed it from her mind as selfishness. But now, confronted with it head on, she could not deny her misery. To watch Max once again walk away from her toward Dachau... to go day after day without seeing him... All her fears of being left alone rose up with fresh force. She had promised Max she would support whatever decision he made. The consequences of her words were now making themselves felt. To keep one promise, she must allow another one to be broken.

"I'll talk to him," she managed.

At that moment, they heard footsteps on the stairs outside. The door opened and Max came in. He looked exhausted. Heedless of Dolf's presence, Liesel ran to him and flung her arms around him. He hugged her, his arms trembling. "I need to talk to you." he whispered.

"I know."

"Take a walk with me?"

She nodded.

Max glanced apologetically at Dolf Wolf. "Give us a bit."

Dolf dismissed him with a sympathetic wave.

Max took Liesel's arm and guided her out of the tailor shop and out into Molching. He led her once again to the place by the Amper river where they had talked his first day back. He drew her to sit next to him under the tree, and wrapped his arm around her. He looked shattered.

"Liesel... I don't know what to do."

She huddled close. She could feel the fear, the indecision, radiating from him like a sickly vapor.

He sighed hard. "I've been going over and over it in my mind, and I – I'm torn."

"About what?" she asked gently.

"Everything. Going back to Dachau. Facing those monsters again. But most of all, I – I don't want to leave you."

She held his hand, secretly savoring his words. _I don't want you to leave me either. I want to keep you close._ But she didn't say it.

"Liesel, I want you to answer me honestly. What do _you_ think I should do?"

Liesel didn't want to answer him. From the moment Dolf Wolf had told them about the trial at Dachau, she had known what Max should do. The answer had stared her mercilessly in the face. All day, she had flinched from it, willing it to look away from her. But now that it was up to her, it demanded to be spoken in truth. She knew what she must say. Before she answered though, there was one thing she needed to clarify.

"Max..." she murmured. "Dolf told me everything."

"What?"

"About – about Dachau."

Max drew a sharp breath. Liesel felt the muscles in his body freeze, as though her words had turned them to stone.

Bravely, Liesel went on. "He – he told me how you were treated, about the horrific conditions. He told me how you tried to save your friend from the experiments, about the evil guard and – and what he did to you. He told me everything, Max."

Max was silent. His grip around Liesel's shoulders had become a painful clench.

"I cannot even imagine what you went through," Liesel whispered, her tears spilling over. "I understand why you don't want to talk about it. But I wanted you to know that I know."

Max shuddered and crushed her closer. He seemed afraid that at any moment she might flee from him. Instead of pulling away from the discomfort, Liesel pressed herself into it. She put her arms around him and answered his frantic embrace with a tender one. He began to heave with silent sobs.

Liesel held him. "You risked your life for others. You sacrificed. You endured. I think you're the bravest man I've ever known. You're a hero, Max."

He shuddered into her neck. "Please don't say that."

"It's true."

"I'm not a hero, Liesel. I let Adam down. If I hadn't have been in the hospital, I might have been able to protect him from Trenkle."

"You were in the hospital for trying to help his friend!"

"I was in the hospital because I got caught. I got caught because I was careless."

"Max... please."

He was inconsolable. "I was careless because I had stopped caring. That's the ugly truth, Liesel. I cared far more for myself than I did for Konrad, or anybody else. I was trying to get that blanket to him in a hurry because I was so hungry. All I could think about was the ration I would miss if I didn't get in line. So I did a half-hazard job. Because of it, I got caught, and two men died."

"Max! You cannot blame yourself for those men's deaths! You did everything you could to save them!"

"I should have done more."

"Stop," Liesel pleaded. "Please stop. You couldn't save everybody. Anymore than I could have saved Mama and Papa."

He shook his head, unable to accept her comfort.

"Listen to me," Liesel said. "You say you stopped caring? I disagree. I think you cared desperately. You risked your life to bring a dying man a blanket. You cared so much, you're eaten alive with guilt over things you had absolutely no control over."

He was silent.

She put her hand against his cheek. "Max, you couldn't stop the Nazi from killing Adam. You couldn't stop the Typhus epidemic. You're only one man. You've got to stop carrying these burdens around. They're not yours."

"Then why do I feel so responsible?"

She watched the unshed tears in his swampy eyes.

"Because you're kind, and you _do_ care."

He said nothing.

"You're my hero," she whispered again. "You're a great man."

"I'm not great, Liesel. Please don't call me that."

She kissed his hand. "You are. Whether you know it or not."

He sighed, but he did not argue with her any further. After a while, he said, "I'm glad you know."

"Me too."

He rested his head on her shoulder. "You still haven't told me what you think I should do."

Liesel closed her eyes. She braced herself, and she made herself speak. "Max, I think you need to go to Dachau and testify."

He shivered. "I was afraid you would say that."

She stroked his hair, her fingers combing gently through the feathery strands. "I think you need to do it for yourself... and also for the thousands of people who don't have a voice."

"If I go, I won't be able to take you with me."

"I know."

"I swore I wouldn't leave you."

"It's just for a little while," she had to force the words out.

He wasn't fooled by her bravado. "A promise is a promise."

"This is important. More important than I am."

She was surprised by the flash of anger in his eyes. "Don't say that. Don't ever say that you're unimportant. Especially to me." He took her face in his hands. "I won't make a decision based on that."

"You asked my opinion. I say you should go."

He kept holding her face, looking at her as though searching for another answer. She wouldn't give him one.

All at once, he turned away with an exclamation of anguish. She remained where she was, her arms limp at her sides.

"I don't want to do this," he said.

She was mute with misery.

He looked at her. "You don't want me to go anymore than I do. I can see it in your eyes."

She did not deny it. "This isn't about what we want. It's about justice... and maybe some closure for you."

He hid his face in his hands.

"Please... just go, Max. Go for yourself. Go for your family and for mine. Go for Adam and Konrad. You're the only voice they have."

When he looked at her again, his eyes were dull. "I don't have a choice, do I?"

"I don't think you do."

The minutes stretched out like hours. Max Vandenburg fought a bitter battle within himself. Two forces exerted powerful draws over him: one was in the shape of a grim, arched gate upon which this lie was inscribed _Arbeit Macht Frei._ "Work Shall Make You Free." Behind that gate lay the inexorable call to justice. The other was in the form of the young girl beside him. In her presence lay peace and love and sometimes forgetting.

The lying gate won. Max turned to Liesel. "Promise me one thing."

"Anything, Max."

"If at any time during the trial, it all gets to be... too much... promise me you'll come to me if I ask. You know where Dachau is. Promise me you'll find me. I don't know what I will face in there. I don't know if I can face it alone. You're the only person I have to turn to."

"I'll come Max," Liesel vowed. "I'll come like a shot. I promise."

He drew her close again. "Thank you." He kissed her forehead several times. "Thank you."

They sat together for a long time by the river, their hearts heavy. Liesel rested her head against Max's chest, listening to his heart beat. It was the sound of life, of hope. She would never take it for granted. She closed her eyes and memorized the soft pulse, willing it brand itself into her brain so that its rhythm would sustain her during the long days and nights of his absence.

They did not leave the riverside until the sun was well set, and twilight was deepening into darkness. Max walked Liesel back to 8 Grande Strasse, and they said their goodnights, both fighting back tears. They lost the fight when they cloistered themselves in the privacy of their bedrooms. The sole witness to their distress was the cold November moon. It took pity on them and spilled its light into their rooms, perhaps hoping to drive away evil dreams. But it was to no avail. Max Vandenburg and Liesel Meminger wept that night, from fear, from grief, from sheer loneliness. When they finally cried themselves to sleep, the grisly shade of Dachau found them both and crept into their minds. Not even the light of the compassionate moon could drive it away.


	5. Letters

Author's Note: _William Denson was a real person. He presided over the trials at Dachau as the chief military prosecutor. He helped to convict and execute more Nazi war criminals than any other American. For more information about this unsung hero, read "Justice At Dachau" by Joshua Greene._

* * *

Two days later, in the cold, gray light of dawn, Max kissed Liesel goodbye and set off walking down the lonely road toward Dachau. Rudolf Wolf had left the day before to inform the prosecution that Max would testify.

"They'll provide you with room and board and pay you 1,000 _Deutschmarks_ ," he told Max. "That will help make up for your lack of work."

Max did not say so, but the news that he would be paid boosted his spirits enormously. His utter dependence on the charity of Alex Steiner, Ilsa Hermann, and even Liesel was a constant nettle in his mind. He was sick of being a beggar and a refugee. He wanted to once again experience the satisfaction of providing himself with his own food, clothing and shelter.

Being paid to bear witness against monsters was at least a start.

The morning he left, he met Liesel in front of 8 Grande Strasse. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. A gelid wind gusted in from the north, and the sky was the color of dirty dishwater. Max was bundled in the new, warm coat and gloves from Ilsa Hermann. His pride had taken a backseat to comfort, and that morning he was unabashedly thankful for them.

Liesel had not slept at all the night before. She had lain awake tortured and grieved. Once, she had gotten up and packed a suitcase full of clothes, determined to go with Max to Dachau. By morning though, she saw the foolishness of her plan. This was Max's fight. She could not enter the ring with him, no matter how desperately she wanted to. She could only stand at the sidelines, watching, praying for him with every ounce of her strength.

Max and Liesel said their goodbyes under the eaves of the Mayor's house. The north wind swirled around them like the breath of a plutonian deity. They held each other for an eternity, not speaking much. Words seemed meaningless. Their chests rose and fell in unison, their cheeks pressed together. An ocean of suppressed emotion lay behind their tight-clenched eyes.

"I got the address of the place," Max murmured. Liesel felt him slip a piece of paper into her coat pocket. "Write to me everyday if you can. It will be more bearable if I can hear from you."

Liesel nodded. She did not trust herself to speak.

Max pressed her closer to him. "Liesel... God has taken everything in the world from me, except for you. You are all I have left, and you are infinitely precious to me." Sorrow and tenderness melted together in his voice. "I hope you know that."

Oh God, how her heart hurt. "I know, Max."

His emotions got the better of him. She could feel him shaking, breaking apart with fear. He held her as though she were a rudder in a storm. She suddenly knew she would have to be the strong one or he would never let her go. Quelling her own anxiety, she made herself take his face in her hands. She held him for a long moment, stroking his thin cheeks with her thumbs, probing his eyes with hers. She made herself smile.

"Come on, Max," she whispered. "You can do this. Come on Maxi Taxi, you've got him now, Jew boy. You've got him. You've got him..."

For the first time in days, he smiled. An insecure, shivering thing, but a smile nonetheless.

"You've got him," Liesel whispered once more. "Go give Dachau a good right hook."

In reply, he bent his head and brushed his lips against hers. The kiss was so soft, it was scarcely more than a feather grazing her skin. But at his touch, a shiver went through Liesel's whole body. She stood motionless as he held her, his lips inches from hers, their noses lightly touching.

The wind whimpered bitterly around them.

Her breath mingled with his.

One more kiss, this time hard on her cheek. His arms around her were so fierce she thought they would crush the breath out of her. Then he was gone, striding down the path away from 8 Grande Strasse. The wind roared, sending a monsoon of leaves raining from the trees. Liesel stood on the steps and watched Max Vandenburg's retreating figure. With each step he took away from her, she felt as though the strings of her heart stretched out tighter and tighter, still attached to him. She tore across the yard to the gate, desperate to keep him in sight as long as possible. A flashback of the night he left 33 Himmel Street smashed into her mind. The darkness. His retreating figure. Her wave which he had not seen. The suffocating misery of his absence.

She gasped and clutched at the gate to keep her balance. "Max!" she cried out.

He turned.

She waved to him frantically.

This time, he waved back.

The horror of the memory was instantly dissolved.

She stood at the gate long after he had disappeared. She did not cry. Her heart felt dry and numb.

She was alone again.

Eventually she heard a crunch of leaves behind her. She turned. Ilsa Hermann was standing behind her.

"Is he gone?" The Mayor's wife's eyes were wistful.

"Yes," said Liesel dully. "He is gone."

Ilsa came and stood beside her at the gate, watching down the road.

"He will come back," she said. "He is only going to a trial. Not to war."

"Yes, I know," replied Liesel.

Ilsa looked at her. "But you are still afraid something might happen to him."

Now the tears rose, wild and burning. "I can't help it."

Ilsa put her hand sympathetically on the girl's shoulder. "Of course you can't."

Liesel did not go to school that day. She sat in the garden for a long time. Eventually, she got up and made her way to the Molching cemetery. In the recent past, she had been a frequent visitor there, going at least once a week to sit by Mama and Papa's graves. She would pour out her heart to them, telling them of her loneliness, her fear. Occasionally she railed at them for dying. They were easier to talk to than sympathetic strangers. Since Max's return though, she had not felt such a strong a draw to the place. Max was more comforting than ghosts.

But upon his departure, her feet almost immediately found their way through the cobbled streets, to the edge of town. The cemetery lay like a carpet of peace. She slipped through the mossy headstones and sat down by her Papa's grave. The grass had finally covered it, as it had Mama's. The rough, wooden crosses were still relatively fresh. Only the merest hint of weathering was beginning to appear around their edges. She leaned her head against the one that read "Hans Huberman 1894 – 1943."

"Papa," she murmured. "It's been a while since I talked to you." Her conversations were usually a stream of consciousness, very similar to how she would have addressed Hans Huberman had she been speaking to him in real life. "You know how I told you that Max had come back? Well, now he has to leave again. He's going back to Dachau. The Americans are holding a trial there. He's going to testify against the Nazis. I'm glad he's going. I think he needs to go. But oh Papa..." the tears she had held in earlier, now gushed out, "...it was so hard to let him go."

She stayed at the cemetery for the rest of the afternoon. The stillness was a tonic to her soul. She sat at Papa's grave and prayed for Max. She imagined his thin, upright figure swathed in its black overcoat slowly approaching that forbidding gate, entering once again the hell which had been his prison for two years. She could not allow herself to dwell on it for too long because the yearning to be there with him was too powerful. She ached to hold his hand as he crossed that cursed threshold, to comfort him amidst the bombardment of memories.

"God, give him strength," she begged.

It wasn't until later, safely ensconced in her bed at the Hermanns, that she thought about the last few seconds of their farewell. The agony of it had been so primal, she had hardly been able to process her feelings. Now, in the candlelit darkness, she let her mind replay it. Their parting words. Max's arms tight around her. The brush of his lips against hers...

She replayed that over and over again.

She put her fingertips to her mouth. It had been nothing but a split second of tenderness between them, and yet her whole body unexpectedly warmed at the memory.

She closed her eyes.

Rudy had wanted her to kiss him. He had asked her to many times before his death, and she had refused him every time. _Why_ had she refused him? _Why? Why?_ It was an act of stubbornness she would eternally regret. There were times, when she woke from nightmares and she swore she could see him standing sadly in the corner, covered in bomb dust, watching her with longing eyes. A lifetime ago, she had imagined him naked, her youthful body thrilling with the taboo image. But after the bomb, that faintly erotic vision came to her no more. Now Rudy appeared fully clothed, dead, and reproachful. For two years, she had lived in an abyss of grief, tormented with the knowledge that she would never be able to grant him his desire. She had grieved and grieved and grieved until it seemed that her soul imploded on itself, destroying her ability to feel anything good.

Then Max Vandenburg had walked into Alex Steiner's shop, and she found out that her heart wasn't as ruined as she thought. Everyday, his presence was a fresh shock of joy, a reminder that life was precious. She could not afford to take a second of it for granted. Max never asked her for kisses. He gave them freely, with no thought of needing permission. That was one of the many differences between her relationship with him and with Rudy; a natural outpouring versus a withheld prize.

The farewell kiss on the porch had felt different though. It was as though Max had, for a split second, opened a secret chamber. With his lips, he had allowed her a taste of something unspeakably sweet, a treasure which neither of them could touch at the moment, but might in time, cautiously explore. It gave her the same warm thrill that she had used to feel when she thought about Rudy naked.

Liesel lay in the darkness and thought for a long time. In her heart, a tiny hope had suddenly sprung up. It was a little green shoot of an idea, so tender and new, she didn't dare linger over it for long. She had learned not to dwell too much on the future. She drifted into sleep, dreaming of what it would be like to feel Max Vandenburg's lips on hers again.

When morning came, she made herself get up and go to school. She put forth a gargantuan effort to keep her mind on her studies, but for the most part, it was pointless. She could not focus on geography when her mind was consumed with anxiety over her beloved friend. She prayed all morning that he was safe at Dachau and that his return had not been too dreadful for him. In the midst of her worrying, unbidden daydreams of him kissing her slipped into her thoughts. She scolded herself, trying to shake them off, but the moment she left her mind unguarded, they crept in again. At last she gave up on her lessons and spent the rest of the day mentally composing letters to Max.

When school let out, she went home and had tea with Ilsa. Then she went out into the sun porch and wrote her first letter to Max Vandenburg.

* * *

 _4_ _Nov, 1945_

 _Molching_

 _Dear Max,_

 _You told me to write to you every day if I could, so here is your first letter. Nothing much has happened. I didn't do very well at school because I was so worried about you. Please write to me as soon as you can and let me know you've arrived safely at Dachau. I think I will rest easier as soon as I know that you are alright._

 _I won't lie, I'm having a hard time. I miss you and Alex. All my thoughts seem to play at once when I'm alone. Ilsa is so kind to me, but she doesn't talk much. I have nothing to distract my mind from painful memories. Today when I was walking home from school, I saw a man ahead of me, holding a paint can in each hand. For just a split second, I thought it was Papa. I almost called out to him. Then I realized that it wasn't him, it never could be him, and it hurt as much as if he had just died yesterday. I hid in an alley and cried. It's been two years, but that pain is still so sharp. I didn't realize how much you were helping to ease it until you left._

 _Sorry to be so gloomy. I'm finding it impossible to be cheerful. I'm looking at the sky right now and it's like a big sheet of dull metal, heavy and sad. Do you remember those "weather reports" I used to give you when we lived on Himmel Street? Well, there's one for old times sake. A heavy, dull, metal sky is hanging over Molching. I wonder if it looks the same in Dachau._

 _Please let me know you're alright. I can't even imagine what it must be like being back at that place. I wish so much I was there with you. If they don't treat you right, please come home. They can find someone else to testify against the Nazis. I love you so much._

 _Yours,_

 _Liesel._

* * *

Liesel mailed her letter and trudged back to the Hermann's house. She was a little ashamed of sending Max such a bleak first epistle, but she could not bring herself to be anything but honest. She knew he would not appreciate false cheerfulness anyway. He would scent it between the lines. The only thing she did not mention was her daydreams about him kissing her. The thought made her blush.

She did not receive any mail from him that day, but the next afternoon, a letter arrived for her. It was postmarked Dachau. She fled to her room to read it.

* * *

 _4_ _Nov, 1945_

 _Dachau_

 _Dear Liesel,_

 _I arrived at Dachau safely. Journey was uneventful. I had a few really bad moments when I reached the gate. Just seeing it brought back terrible memories. They were so vivid, like I was living it again. I could see everything, the guards, the whips, the dogs. I got dizzy and threw up. I almost turned around and came back to Molching, but Dolf was watching for me. He saw that I was in trouble and he came to my rescue. He stood with me and calmed me until it passed. He's had similar things happen to him. Apparently it's quite common among the inmates._

 _Once through the gate, I managed to recover, but the memories kept coming. The bodies are gone, but other than that, the camp hasn't changed at all. The ground beneath the Schiessand, the execution wall, is still stained red with blood. The smell lingers. The nooses still hang from trees. The ground is swollen with mass graves. I am once again standing on the soil of Hell. It is taking all my strength not to turn around and run away as fast as I can._

 _The trials are being held in a part of the camp I have never been to. That part is a relief. I don't know if I could stand to stay in any of the areas where I was a prisoner. I think I would lose my mind. My lodgings are actually quite nice. They are in the buildings where the SS officers lived during the war. I have my own room with a bed and a closet and a little lavatory. There is even some art on the walls. I won't lie, it gives me kind of a grim satisfaction that I, a former prisoner, am using a room that was once inhabited by a Nazi guard who is now likely a prisoner himself. I don't know if it is wrong to feel that way. I don't really care. It feels like justice._

 _I wasn't given much to do today. Dolf showed me around, and I met a few of the Americans who are working on the case. Tomorrow, I'm going to be oriented for the trial. It is set to start on Nov 15th. The prosecution has interviewed some five hundred former prisoners. Not all of them will actually take the witness stand. Dolf told me they are weeding them out, trying to find the most suitable ones. They judge a witness's demeanor, his body language, his manner of speaking before they decide whether or not they want him to testify. They want only the most sympathetic and credible people to actually stand before the defense._

 _Is it terrible that I'm hoping they find me neither sympathetic nor credible? I wish I could just give my testimony and go home._

 _I'm going to mail my letter and turn in. It's dark, and I'm dead tired. I miss you. More than I can say. It's so quiet and lonely here. Sometimes I think I can hear the voices of the dead crying out from the ground, crying for mercy, for justice. Their voices weigh on my spirit. I think if I could see your golden hair, your smile and your warm, brown eyes, I wouldn't be able to hear the dead so clearly. You're like my talisman against evil._

 _No, that's too cheap a description of what you are to me. You're the best friend I've ever had. Let's just leave it at that._

 _Goodnight, my little Standover Girl. My Word Shaker. May your dreams be sweet tonight._

 _Love,_

 _Max_

* * *

Liesel read and re-read the letter five times. She agonized over his description of the flashback at the gate and over his evident loneliness. She rejoiced that he had decent living quarters. She drank in his scant information about the trial. She kissed the last few sentences of the letter, as though they were precious jewels bequeathed to her.

Then she took up her own pen and paper again, and wrote him a reply.

* * *

 _5 Nov, 1945_

 _Molching_

 _Max Dearest,_

 _Thank you so much for letting me know you arrived safely. It is a huge relief. I'm so sorry you had to endure the horrible memories at the gate. I wish with all my heart I could have been there with you. I'm glad Dolf helped you get through it. I'm relieved that you have a decent place to stay. I don't think it is at all wrong that you feel a sense of justice about staying in the former SS barracks. I think putting you there, and those monsters in prison, is the only right thing they could have done._

 _Thanks for telling me the news of the trial. Please keep me updated as much as you can. I too am selfish enough to wish that the prosecution would pass you over and send you home, but somehow I don't think they will. You are unfortunately, very sympathetic and credible. I have a strong feeling you will be picked, Max. And if you are, it will be for a good reason. Your voice will be one of love and sanity in the midst of all the barbarism._

 _I thought about my mother a lot today. I think she is one of the reasons I have such strong feelings about this trial. I will probably never know exactly what happened to her, but I'm sure she was killed for being a Communist. The more I think about it, the more furious it makes me. She was no more a threat to the Nazis than my little brother, Werner. She was just a sick, impoverished woman who couldn't even take care of her own children. But they took her away and killed her because she didn't have the right political beliefs. It's insane. But I suppose it's not as insane as trying to wipe out an entire race of people._

 _What's wrong with people, Max, that we do such horrible things to each other? I don't understand it. I don't even want to understand it. There must be some deep, dreadful darkness at the heart of mankind that makes us capable of such atrocities. It terrifies me._

 _I love you and I miss you. You said I'm like a talisman against evil, but I don't feel like one. Right now, I just feel like a lonely, angry girl who misses her only friend. If I was there with you, I would read stories to you to drown out the voices of the dead. I would sit beside you and stroke your hair until you fell asleep. If you had a nightmare, I would wake you up, and hold you until you felt better._

 _I will be so glad when all this is over. I hope you sleep well tonight. Consider yourself hugged and kissed._

 _Love,_

 _Liesel_

* * *

The next day she received Max's reply to her first letter.

* * *

 _5_ _Nov, 1945_

 _Dachau_

 _Dear Liesel,_

 _Thank you so much for your letter. It was such a comfort to come back to my room after a day of tiring legal procedures, and find it waiting for me. I'm sorry you were so worried about me. I was fine. I really was. But you are sweet to care. I'm glad there is someone in the world to whom I matter that much. A lot of people in this camp have no one._

 _I'm sorry you've been so lonely and sad. I wish I could take you in my arms and hold you. Please don't apologize to me for being "gloomy." I want you to always be honest with me. I imagine we will both be writing some gloomy letters in the near future. It is just part of our lives right now. But friends can always tell each other how they really feel, right? I'm sorry about the man who reminded you of Hans. I know how much that hurts. I still trick myself into thinking I see members of my family sometimes. It never gets any easier. I think at some point, you and I need to try to find out what happened to our families. Not now. There's too much else going on. But someday, we'll do it together._

 _Your weather report made me smile. The sky DOES look like that at Dachau! Like heavy, dull, metal. I think it wants to rain, but can't make up it's mind. My least favorite kind of weather._

 _Trial news: Today I sat through a very long meeting, met a lot of people, and was given a very long questionnaire to fill out. The meeting was made up of the prosecution team and the witnesses. The Americans brought in some young lawyer from the States, a Lt. Col. William Denson, who is going to serve as the lead prosecutor against the Nazis. I sincerely hope he is up for the job. He is about 32 years old, and from what I understand, has only one criminal trial under his belt. He seems an earnest, intelligent sort. He showed some flashes of tenacity during the meeting. That is good. He will need every ounce of it. He will be responsible for achieving justice for tens of thousands of people. A heavy burden indeed._

 _A man named Franz Blaha is the set to be the star witness. He is a doctor and he was was forced to work with the Nazi scientists. He was cruelly abused. Anytime his work wasn't satisfactory, he was punished by being beaten or hung from his hands like Dolf was. He witnessed a great many atrocities: the freezing experiments, the high altitude tests, the starvation experiments, the malaria and tuberculosis injections. I think he was forced to do autopsies too. His testimony should carry a lot of weight._

 _Tomorrow I am going to be interviewed. I am dreading it with all my might. I will have to talk about things I can barely stand to think about. The stuff of my nightmares. Liesel, pray for me. I don't want to do this, but I know I have to. The voices of the dead are calling out to me more loudly than ever. "Tell our story," they are saying. "Let the world know what was done to us."_

 _So you see, I have to talk. But I'm afraid it will break me._

 _It will soon be dark, and I miss you. I have a feeling I will say that a lot over the next few weeks. It's not so bad during the day, but in the evening I feel it acutely. I miss talking over the day with you, helping you with your homework. I miss the way you pat my head when you walk by me. I miss sitting by the fire with you, listening to you read. I miss walking you home in the evenings. When I finally see you again, I may not be responsible for how long I hold onto you. I am dreading sleep. My nightmares were terrible last night. I woke up screaming every hour. I think it is this cursed place. I want to be gone from it, and yet I've only just arrived. I pray to God this trial does not last very long. Keep writing to me. It helps to at least read your words._

 _Yours,_

 _Max_

 _P.S. I love you too._

* * *

Liesel wrote her reply that evening before supper.

* * *

 _6 Nov, 1945_

 _Molching_

 _Dearest Max,_

 _I prayed for you all this evening and I will pray all day tomorrow. I am praying for you to be strong and brave. I am praying that you might be able to talk without the memories overwhelming you. I am praying for your nightmares to stop. I wish you didn't have to talk to the prosecution at all. I wish none of this had ever happened to you. If there was any way I could bear it for you, I would. You know that, don't you? I don't know what else to say. If it wasn't raining, I would probably walk to Dachau right now. That's how desperately I want to hug you and comfort you._

 _If you do want me to come, just say the word. You know I'll be there._

 _I hope with all my heart that the young lawyer does a good job on this trial. There MUST be a reckoning with Nazi Germany. The whole world is crying out for it. That is why you must tell your story, Max. You are right. The dead are calling out to you. This time you are the Word Shaker, giving them a voice. Your words are precious because they are spoken out of such pain. I don't believe God looks on such words lightly. I think He will take them and use them to bring life where there was death, truth where there were lies. You are doing a great thing, Max. Hold on to that if you can. I am with you every step of the way._

 _There's not a lot of news here. The weather finally made up its mind and it is pouring down rain. Sheets and sheets of it. I hope you are staying dry. I am curled up in my bed now, writing to you by lamplight. I hope this letter isn't drenched by the time it reaches you._

 _I will be thinking about you all day tomorrow. Please let me know how it goes. I hope you sleep better tonight. If you wake up with nightmares, send all your bad thoughts my way. I will kiss them and make them sweet and send them back to you._

 _That's what I wish I could do anyway. In reality, I will probably be waking up with my own bad dreams. They've gotten worse since you left._

 _I love you so much it hurts._

 _Yours,_

 _Liesel_

* * *

 _6 Nov, 1945_

 _Dachau_

 _Liesel,_

 _I made it through the day. It was horrible. I feel like I spent a thousand hours being questioned by the prosecution team. They wanted to know every little detail about my time in Dachau. It was the most emotionally draining thing I've ever lived through. I couldn't talk about Trenkle without shaking all over. I had to recount to them every, single man I saw him kill. I had to describe how he shot them through the head, some while they were standing next to me. I had to talk about the beatings, and being locked in the standing bunker. I was forced to relive memories I desperately want to forget. All those emotions, the fear... the terrible, terrible fear, the hunger, the horror. I had to experience them all over again. It made me physically ill. I had to leave the room and be sick several times. My clothes were soaked with sweat. The man who was questioning me made me go lie down afterwards. He said I was white as a ghost. I don't doubt I was._

 _I am afraid of what will happen when the trial actually starts. I will have to stand face to face with those human beings who made my life hell on earth for two years. Liesel, that frightens me. I don't know how I will react. I like to think of myself as a civilized person, but I'm afraid that when I look into the eyes of those monsters, I may find out otherwise. I can almost see myself flying at them, screaming in grief, beating them to a pulp. I admit, that thought has crossed my mind. I didn't used to be a fist-fighter for nothing._

 _Dolf says he feels the same way. He longs for revenge, especially against Trenkle. I hope neither of us would actually do it, but I know what human beings are capable of, especially when they are driven by hate. And I do hate them, Liesel. Make no mistake about that. You think I am a hero, but we will see what I emerge as by the end of this trial. I hope I am at least a civilized person. Despite my violent daydreams, I still believe that justice is better than vengeance._

 _The question you posed in your last letter is one for the ages. Why DO we do such horrible things to each other? I don't understand it either. I think you are right though, there is a terrible darkness that lies at the heart of mankind. Liesel, I have a confession to make to you. I don't have much faith left in mankind. After what I saw, I cannot believe in the goodness of people. Not that I don't have faith in individuals, like you or Hans or Rosa. But even so, I am afraid that in the right circumstances, any of us could become monsters. It is a terrifying thing to believe, but I cannot help myself._

 _It's getting dark. I'm dreading the night, dreading sleep. I miss you unbearably. The ordeal I went through today brought so much horror to the surface. I hate being alone with it. That picture you painted in your letter of you reading to me, sitting beside me until I fall asleep, holding me when I nightmare – it sounds like something out of a beautiful dream. I wish it were my reality. I'm not going to ask you to come yet though. I may not ask you at all. There's a part of me that abhors the thought of bringing you into this accursed place. Even though it has been liberated, it is still tainted with filth and defilement. The stench of death literally still hangs in the air. The Americans are always complaining about it. I don't want the dust of Dachau to even touch your feet. But at the same time, I'm a selfish, lonely man who longs for the only comfort left him._

 _We shall see which part of me wins._

 _Goodnight, sweet friend. I'm trying to keep a mental image of you standing over me to ward off the horrors of the dark. I used to do that every night when I was a prisoner here. It helped sometimes. Sleep well. You are dearly loved._

 _Max_

* * *

 _7 Nov, 1945_

 _Molching_

 _Max Darling,_

 _Your last letter broke my heart. I don't know how much longer I can stay away, knowing that you're in such pain. I may come to Dachau whether you ask me to or not. The dust of the place be damned! I don't care if it gets on my feet! I would rather be there with you, breathing stench and having nightmares, than sleeping in this blasted mansion every night, untouched by the horrors that you endured. I want to comfort you so badly. Every part of me hurts to hold you. I'm sorry the interview was so hard. I can't imagine what it must have been like having to dredge up those terrible memories. Now that they've served their purpose, I wish I could take them away from you. I wish I could make all your pain and nightmares disappear forever. It seems so wrong to me that someone as dear and beautiful as you should have to live with those horrors in your mind._

 _I have no doubt that you will remain the sweet, civilized person you've always been, even when you are faced with the Nazis. I understand why you hate them, Max. I don't know how you couldn't. But I don't think you will act on your hate. That is the difference between you and them. You may feel negative emotions, but you control them, and you choose to act on your better nature. You proved that over and over again in the camp. I think when you are finally faced with your tormentors, you will behave with dignity. I simply cannot picture you as some slavering madman driven only by hate and revenge. That is just not you._

 _I don't believe in the goodness of mankind anymore either. How can either of us when the blackness that lies at the center of human nature has been laid bare before our eyes? The church teaches that man is basically depraved. I didn't want to believe that until I saw the piles of starved bodies at Dachau. Then I had no choice but to believe._

 _I do think that there are those among us who have the courage and the goodness to rise above the evil in our natures. You are one of those people, and I think Papa was too. Maybe Ilsa. Maybe Rudy. Myself, I'm not so sure about. I steal, and I hurt people when I'm angry. I don't think I'm really very good, Max. I hope I would never be as evil as the Nazis, but I'm just not sure of anything anymore._

 _It's still raining here, and I'm so lonely I could cry. I would give anything to see you right now. I often think about those countless hours you and I spent in the basement on Himmel Street. Who would have ever thought that a place so cold and gloomy could be the scene of so much happiness? That's what I think of when I think about the basement. Happiness. And stories and friendship. We didn't know how good we had it then, Max, did we? Life wasn't perfect, but we were all together. You were safe. I think the two years you lived with us were the happiest of my whole life._

 _I wish you could come home. I know that what you are doing is important, but the thought of you in that place is torturous to me. I want you here with me where I can love you and care for you properly. I do not trust a living soul in that camp to look after you. To them, you are just important evidence. To me, you are the most precious of treasures._

 _Forgive me, Max. I am very protective of my only friend, and very jealous of the care he receives. I wish I was there with you. I will probably say that a thousand times before this trial is over._

 _Love,_

 _Liesel_

* * *

 _7 Nov, 1945_

 _Dachau_

 _Liesel Dear,_

 _Thank you for your prayers, precious girl. I am convinced that that was what got me through the day yesterday. It was so comforting to read your words of love and encouragement after having to relive all the horror. Keep praying for relief for my nightmares. They were terrible last night. Every time I so much as closed my eyes, I was bombarded with awful images. I must have read your letter a thousand times to ward them off. You are a dear friend to wish that you could bear all this for me, but Liesel, I'm glad that you don't. Truly, I thank God every day that you did not have to witness the horrors that I did. You have enough grief of your own without having your mind forever stained with images of death and torture. All I want from you is your sweet friendship and your beautiful words. That image of you kissing my bad thoughts and making them sweet... I wept when I read that. I wish such a thing were truly possible._

 _Thank you for your encouragement about my own words. As hard as it was to talk to the prosecution counsel yesterday, I am glad that I did it. My story is on record now. I have lent my voice to justice. It is a satisfying feeling. I hope very much that God will use it for truth and life as you envisioned he would._

 _Trial news: Today I was asked to come back for further questioning. It seems your hunch was correct. Lt. Col Denson apparently found me both sympathetic and credible. My name is at the top of the list of viable witnesses. I'm trying to be glad._

 _Denson himself spoke with me today. He wanted further details about Trenkle's treatment of me, and about the murder of Adam Fischer. He also wanted to know about Klaus Schilling and his malaria experiments. I didn't know too much about that, only that he infected a lot of people and many died because of it._

 _I have high hopes for Denson. He is a man with a strong moral compass, and an impeccable understanding of the law. I believe he will be a fair and intelligent prosecutor. He confided to me that he is utterly aghast at the atrocities that have taken place at Dachau. He said he would never have believed that men were capable of such cruelties had he not seen them with his own eyes. He always believed that man was basically good, and that if one lead an upright life, one could expect to be treated justly and compassionately by their fellow men._

 _Dachau has challenged his belief system, just as it has challenged ours. I doubt the world will ever be that innocent about mankind ever again._

 _Denson told me that he and his interrogator are leaving tomorrow for one more excursion through a Displaced Persons camp. They will question the refugees to see if there are any desirable witnesses. After they have compiled their last bit of evidence, they will have the case ready for court. The trial is set to start in a week. If I am called to be a witness, I will remain in Dachau until it is over. If not, I will hopefully be home in a day or two. I will keep you posted._

 _One day this will all be over, Liesel. I hold onto that thought. One day, you and I can put these horrors behind us and move on with our lives. At least I hope we can. Sometimes the past seems insurmountable. But I have to believe that something good lies in my future. Otherwise, I'll go insane. For so long, my life was only about surviving. But now that that is past, I find my mind turning toward LIVING again. What do I want to do with my life? What goals do I want to achieve? What dreams do I want to pursue? I haven't thought about those things in so long, it feels strange to ponder them again. I suppose I am getting used to freedom._

 _Do you have any dreams, Liesel? I don't mean nightmares, I mean hopes for the future. I've never asked you about that, and I'm curious. Our lives haven't exactly been conducive to that sort of thinking have they? But I think that for us to move forward, we need to start thinking like that. Otherwise we'll be trapped in the past forever. It's still too early for me to know exactly what I want, but I have some thoughts. Do you? I'd love to hear them._

 _Keep writing to me, little friend. Your letters are my lifeline._

 _Love,_

 _Max_

* * *

 _8 Nov, 1945_

 _Molching_

 _Dearest Max,_

 _I prayed extra hard for you to have sweet dreams tonight. I hope God hears me. You deserve a respite. I hope that once you leave Dachau, your nightmares will fade completely. I wish with all my heart that you could live out the rest of your life in peace, and not have to re-experience those horrors night after night. I wish it for myself too. I envy people who can sleep soundly every night and who don't have to worry about waking up screaming in terror. They don't know how good they have it. Maybe God will eventually take pity on us and let us have some peace._

 _I'm not surprised that Col Denson favors you as a witness. I fully expect you to stay the length of the trial. I'm glad that you like him, and that he is a man of convictions. We desperately need someone like that. We need men like you too, honest, good men who can shine a light on the darkness of the Nazis._

 _But I won't lie. Like you, I long for this trial to be over. Do you realize you've only been gone three days? It seems like a lifetime. You asked me if I have any hopes for the future. Well, I'll be honest, I don't have many. I'm afraid to think like that. I'm terrified of hoping for too much, only to have it all mercilessly snatched from me. That has happened too many times before. The only thing I really dare to dream about is you coming home..._

Here, in the midst of her writing, Liesel set down her pen. Her mind was churning. When she read Max's question about her hopes for the future, her thoughts had gone straight to one thing: his kiss on the porch, and the little green shoot of an idea that had sprung up as a result of it.

Her dreams.

She did not dare put them down on paper. They were too new, too sensitive to be exposed to outside eyes.

Even Max's.

No, _especially_ Max's.

Because she was terrified that if she expressed them to him, he would gently, sorrowfully tell her that they could never be.

She could not bear that thought.

Best to keep them to herself and hope that if he didn't share those particular dreams yet, he might in time. That was much safer than actually baring her soul to him.

 _The only thing I really dare to dream about is you coming home._

True, and safe. She would stick with that.

 _I can't bring myself to think beyond that. All I ask for out of life is to have your friendship. Maybe as time goes by, I'll be able to hope for something bigger, but for now, I'm sticking with small dreams._

 _You said you have thoughts about the future, Max? What are they? I hope you're braver than I am when it comes to dreaming. You deserve so much more than what you have been dealt. I hope you get everything you want._

 _I miss you. I don't have a whole lot to say. I'm doing my best in school, but it seems so tedious and unimportant compared to what you're doing. It's hard to care about algebra and King Wilhelm I when my best friend is about to testify against the most evil men in history. Everything else pales in comparison._

 _Ilsa asked me to send you her love. She asks about you every morning, wanting to know if you need anything. Please let us know if you do. We can walk down to Dachau this weekend and bring you anything you need. If the weather is good, I might come anyway. I think I would feel much better if I could see you and talk to you for a little while._

 _I love you. I'll be so glad when you're home._

 _Yours,_

 _Liesel_

* * *

 _8 Nov, 1945_

 _Dachau_

 _Liesel Dearest,_

 _I'm not sure what I ever did to deserve such a loyal friend as you, but I thank God he brought you into my life. It is so comforting to sit in this lonely little room in the evenings and read your sweet words. Your indignity at my not wanting you to come Dachau made me smile. I still feel that way, but of course I can't stop you from coming if you're determined to. I won't deny, the thought of your little arms around me is heavenly. I want to hug you as badly as you want to hug me._

 _I'm glad you have so much faith in my goodness, because I don't have much at all. Not where the Nazis are concerned anyway. I hope that one day I can overcome the hatred I feel for them, but right now everything is too raw and fresh. Being here only exasperates it. I think you are entirely too hard on yourself though. I firmly believe that you fall into the category of one of those people who can rise above the evil in our natures. I wouldn't be friends with you, nor love you so deeply if I did not believe that. You're human, just like me and all the rest of the world, but I know a sweet, pure heart beats in your chest. You would not have risked your life to protect me all those months if it were not so._

 _I think about the basement on Himmel Street often. Do you know what my favorite memory is of you?_ _It's of the morning after I gave you "The Standover Man." Before your parents took me in, while Walter was still hiding me, I used to wake up every morning and long for someone to talk to. I lived by myself in the cold and the darkness for nearly two years. I never got used to it. The yearning for companionship was like a wound in my soul. Even after I moved into your basement, it didn't get much better. For several weeks I only saw Hans and Rosa for a few minutes each day. I was terribly lonely. It wasn't until you and I started getting closer that a ray of light shone into my darkness. That first hug you gave me on your birthday... it was like you pressed fresh strength into my bones. I can't tell you how comforting it was. I wanted so much to give you something back, and that's why I wrote "The Standover Man."_

 _Do you remember how you came down to the basement the morning after I gave you that book and fell asleep next to me? I'll never forget it. I woke up, and instead of feeling the usual rush of loneliness, I felt something small and warm resting on my shoulder. I turned over. It was_ _your little hand. The rest of you was there too, cuddled beside me, fast asleep at the edge of that old mattress. I just lay there and watched you, marveling at having another person near. When you woke up, you smiled at me. Then you squirmed over and gave me a big hug. You kissed my cheek and you said, "Thanks Max, I love it. It's the best birthday present anyone ever gave me." Then you sat there and talked to me for about an hour. You made me laugh. You made me feel loved. You made me feel like a person again._

 _I carried that precious memory into Dachau. There were lots of other ones too, but for some reason, that one was always the clearest. I used to lie in that stinking, hell-hole that was our barracks and think about it. I got to where I couldn't see my family anymore, or anything from my childhood. It all seemed like it had happened to another person. But for some reason, I could always see you. I held on to your memory for dear life. It sustained me when nothing else would."_

 _And here I am again, back in Dachau, holding on your memory. The hours are dragging by today. I have absolutely nothing to do. Denson and his interrogator left this morning for the DP camp. They'll be back in a few days. In the meantime, the rest of the witnesses have nothing to do but hang about and wait. The Americans set up sort of a recreation room for us in one of the buildings. To pass the time, we've been playing cards, billiards, smoking and eating. We've all been eating a LOT. I don't think any of us have quite gotten used to having food whenever we want. The Americans keep a lot on hand. Chocolate, popcorn, taffy, crackers. They are very generous. They also play loud jazz music while they work. Some of the men like it, but I don't. Hearing cheerful sounds in this place seems like a mockery of the dead. Anytime I hear Glen Miller or the Andrews sisters whilst staring at the crematorium chimney, I want to cry. Dolf doesn't care for it either, but we say nothing because it keeps up the spirits of some of the others._

 _Dolf has kept up a running gin game since he got here. He and the other men don't have any money, but they bet candy and cigarettes. I tried to play one game, but I'm not very good at cards. I told them if anyone was interested in a fist fight though, that I'd be happy to oblige. They all thought that was funny. None of them took me up on the offer. Probably just as well._

 _I'm sitting at the little rickety desk in my room right now, writing and listening to the rain. The rain is hated here. It makes the dreariness even drearier. It also makes the stench worse. I wonder if the smell of death will ever wash away from Dachau? As much as I would love to see you, Liesel, I'm glad you don't have to be here in the gloom and the stink._

 _Don't worry about me too much. I'm in good hands. The Americans are kind and attentive. The worst part is missing you. There are good men here, men with whom I could be friends. But they just aren't you. With you, I feel as though I can let my guard down, show you the parts of my soul that I don't dare show to others. With you, I am at peace._

 _Goodnight, my darling friend. I hope you sleep well. I wish I could hold you close and drive away your loneliness. Someday soon, I will. I love you._

 _Max_

* * *

The next day the rain poured mercilessly down. There would be no trip to Dachau. Liesel wept with the disappointment of it. It was Sunday, so she could not even look forward to a letter from Max. But in the midst of her loneliness, she made up her mind. She would go to the trial the day Max testified. Rain, snow, hurricanes or wild dogs would not be able to hold her back. She needed to see him.

* * *

Author's other note: _It may be a while before I am able to update this again. This story takes a lot of time and effort and research and quite frankly, the subject matter is draining. One can read about Nazi atrocities only so much before one becomes mentally exhausted. I may take a bit of a break, but don't worry, it will be completed eventually. I have lots of notes. Thanks for your patience._


End file.
